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Books by 
CHARLES RANN KENNEDY 

SEVEN PLAYS FOR SEVEN PLAYERS 

Volumes now ready: 

THE WINTERFEAST 

THE SERVANT IN THE HOUSE 

THE IDOL-BREAKER 

THE RIB OF THE MAN 

SHORTER PLAYS FOR SMALL CASTS 

Volumes now ready: 

THE TERRIBLE MEEK 
THE NECESSARY EVIL 



HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK ; 




Photograph by Alice Boughton 

EDITH WYNNE MATTHISON AS DIANA 



THE 

RIB OF THE MAN 

A PLAY OF THE NEW WORLD IN FIVE ACTS 
SCENE INDIVIDABLE, SETTING FORTH THE STORY 
OF AN AFTERNOON IN THE FULNESS OF DAYS 

BY 

CHARLES. RANN KENNEDY 

'Svv dk yvvaiKuiv <pv\ov asiaare, i)SvkTreicu 
Movaai 'OXvfimadeg, Kovpai Aibg atyio^oto. 

— Hesiod Theogony 1021 




HARPER fcf BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 



ALL STAGE, RECITATION, PUBLICATION, TRANSLATION 
AND OTHER RIGHTS RESERVED. APPLICATION 
SHOULD BE MADE TO MESSRS. HARPER & BROTHERS 









MAR 17.1917 



The Rib of The Man 



'Zft ^ «j Copyright, IOI7. by Charles Rann Kennedy 

Printed in the United States of America 
Published April, 191 7 






3>CIA455947 



TO MY WIFE AND 
ALL MY BELOVED WOMEN 

I know we are on the threshold of the Great 
Miracle. A New World, so far as the relation 
between man and woman is concerned. A world of 
less sex and more love. There shall be real children 
in that world. Children with wings maybe: chil- 
dren of the open sky: maybe at last some 
Golden Child quickened of the Wind Himself! 



CONTENTS 

THE FIRST ACT 



PAGE 



The Tree of the Knowledge 17 

THE SECOND ACT 
Fig-Leaves 65 

THE THIRD ACT 
The Flaming Sword 103 

THE FOURTH ACT 
Thorns and Thistles 137 

THE FIFTH ACT 
The Way of the Tree of Life 179 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 

David Fleming An image of God The Man 

Rosie Fleming An help meet for him The Rib 

Archie Legge A gentleman 

A Beast of the Earth 

Basil Martin An aviator A Fowl of the Air 

Peter Prout A scientist The Subtle One 

Ion A gardener The Voice Walking 

Diana Brand A spare rib The Flaming Sword 

THE PLACE 

The Courtyard of a villa overlooking the sea, 
on an island of the iEgean. The name is Eden. 

THE TIME 

Between the hours of five and half past seven on 
an afternoon during the European War. 



THE SCENE 

It is the Courtyard of a villa overlooking the 
sea, on an island of the iEgean. The stonework is 
marble, square-blocked without ornament and the 
colour of honey. 

The Villa is to the left: 1 the upper story, a 
loggia with stairway descending sidelong to the 
yard: the lower, yawning into cellarage. On the 
right are Columns, Cypress Trees and a glimpse 
of Garden. A Terrace, approached by Steps 
and bounded by a low Wall, occupies the back- 
ground. The wall is recessed for a seat. Beyond 
are cedar branches and a blue sky. 

A plot of lawn carpets the Yard. A couple of 
classic benches stand formally right and left. In 
the centre upon a plain modern base, an ancient 
Altar. It is a tripod of Egyptian porphyry, scarred 
with age, but glowing like a flame of rose. The 
inscription in Greek uncials below, 

THI TQN GEQN MHTPI 

points to a worship that goes back beyond all bibles 
to the foundations of the world. 

x The directions, Right and Left, throughout the play, refer to the 
spectator's point of view. 



THE GREEK SONG 

The first and last stanzas of Sappho's Hymn to 
Aphrodite, sung in Greek to Brahms' Sapphische 
Ode, are used throughout the play. They run: 

7roiKi\60pov' 9 aOavar' 'AQpoSira, 
ttcll Aiog, ooXo7tXok£, \i<jGOfjtai <te, 
fxy fx aaatGi fxrjT* oviaiai Sapva, 

TTOTVta, Ov/JLOV. 

sXOe fioi Kol vvv, \a\iirav Se Xvgov 
€k fizpifivav, oggcl SI fioi rlAfcrtrat 
Gvfiog IfjifxippUy TtXtGov' <jv §' avTa 

GVlXfXa\OQ t(T 

Immortal Aphrodite of the broidered throne, 
daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I pray thee, 
break not my spirit with anguish and distress, 
O Queen. 

Come, I pray thee, now too, and release me from 
cruel cares; and all that my heart desires to accom- 
plish, accomplish thou, and be thyself my ally. 
(Wharton). 

The Curtain rises and descends each time to 
phrases from the same melody, arranged for the 
orchestra. 



THE FIRST ACT 

The Tree of the Knowledge 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



THE FIRST ACT 

In the beginning there is shewn an Ancient Gardener, 
busy with a besom. He wears a saffron smock, his 
brown legs bare but sandalled. It is Ion. As he 
works he croons a song in Greek. 

He breaks off suddenly, diverted by some happening 
in the garden; and Peter Prout crawls in. A queer 
old party with a flat head, and clad in silver grey. 

Peter is equipped with entomological tackle and has 
caught something. He now wriggles pleasantly upon 
the altar, nipping its thorax. 

Prout, I get old and stiff as sin. But I still bag 
beauties. Sss! A fine fat female. 

He stabs her neatly with a pin: then, 
looking up, catches Ion's eye. 

Krr! 

[i7l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Ion. What for, you murder my dear butterfly? 

Prout. My good sir, science! Surely a little blood- 
shed in the sacred cause of science . . . 
Ah! — You don't know who I am. Nobody 
ever does at first. No matter! Prout! 
I repeat, sir, Prout! Peter Prout! 

Ion. Is it a joke? 

Prout. Joke! I'm introducing myself. Do I 
strike savagery, where the name of Prout is 
nothing ? 



Ion. Forgive! It is a foolish island. Here we 
live thousand of year ago, all day long. 

Prout. This is the penalty of incognito. If I went 
about, the roaring lion, devouring their in- 
digestible dinners, I'd be welcome as the 
deviL I come, a simple old soul with a 
butterfly net, and I'm a joke. Let me tell 
you, sir, there's more behind this net than — 
butterflying! It is the symbol of a craft 
that tangles Life herself. She can't fool 
me. I know her secret. 
[18] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Ion. I am Greek: I like a secret. Tell me. 

And he settles coaxingly at his feet. 

Prout. Sex. The fact may not have pierced your 
island gloom, but Prout on Sex denotes the 
final word. In that book, I expose all. I 
investigate amatory impulse from its mild 
beatitudes in primordial mud to the com- 
positions of Matisse. What do I find? 
Sex! I find sex in everything, and I do 
not shrink from saying so. Little of the 
modest violet about me, sir! I'm biologi- 
cal or nothing. 

Ion. Ah, now you are talking Greek: I under- 
stand. I study life too, here in my garden. 

Prout. Bless my bones! . . . And I mistook you for 
an oriental mystic! 

He slips down for a hobnob. 

Ion. Have a bit of fig? 

Prout. Krr! Mine's smoke. 

Their rituals occupy them a moment. 
[i9l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

■ 

Ion. You are a wise man. How of a case 
like so? 

You are only the old fool in the gar- 
den. You go about, you dig, you plant; 
but you are like God — you are deaf: so 
we talk aloud. All the same, your big ear, 
it is wide open, and one day, down by 
the Tree We Must Not Pick, you learn — 
a Secret! Next, you think to help a bit: 
so you write and tell. And now already, 
she is back in the villa; and in a jiff, Mrs. 
Fleming will be here too. 

Prout. I see sex in this already. Proceed. 

Ion. Your Beautiful Moon, she is upstair, 
changing herself of the voyage. Not a 
soul know she is come. Mrs. Fleming, she 
is down at the Kafenia, turkey-dancing for 
the Red Cross. It is when they meet, you 
bad old man, you will find what you have 
done. Only, it is not you. It is me all 
the time, see? So! 



Prout. From your disorganized data, I infer: two 
females in antagonism. Yes? 

[20] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ion. Antagonisma! They do not meet for three 
year. 

Prout. Sss! I thought the one bright instinct of 
my life could not deceive me. Who is the 
man? 

Ion. I did not say a man. Do you mean Mr. 
Fleming? Or one of the others? 

Prout. Others! What! — Polyandry? 

Ion. Not so very poly. It is only four of us 
who are men, counting me. 

Prout. Ample, sir, for polyandric purposes! I 
must contrive some way of sticking on 
here. 

Ion. That will make five. [Counting]-, You and 
me: Captain Martin from the big war: 
Mr. Legge, who is always come amusing 
Mrs. Fleming; and .... Ah!— Mr. 
Fleming. 

Prout {glittering). Bit of a mole, eh? 

r 21 1 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ion. What you call archaiologos, yes. He goes 
all day digging for pots and palaces under 
the ground. 

Prout. The archaeological husband! — Sss! . . . 
Now, listen. Can't have everybody med- 
dling in this problem. Polyandry means 
mine! Don't you get shoving in your 
oar; and I'll shew you how we practise 
science down — my way. 

Ion. You will do all this for love of me? 

Prout. Certainly not, sir! My devotion is purely 
psychoanalytical. 

Ion. Oh! That is all right then. 

He begins moving away. 

Prout. One moment! That Secret, down by the 
Tree. . . ? 

Ion- Ah, that I do not tell. I leave it for your 
so-clever net to tangle. 

Prout. Krr! 

[22] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ion, blithely warbling, pads to the ter- 
race. There he meets Rosie Flem- 
ing. She is a pretty thing in pink 
with a parasol. 

Prout's angry rattle changes to a 
pleased hiss. 

Rosie. Ion, do stop howling. Is Mr. Legge here? 

Ion. It is a wonderful thing, I have to tell! 

Already, my Beautiful Moon . . . 

Rosie {shooing him down). I really can't bother 
listening to one of your long-winded Greek 
myths this hot afternoon. I'm far too 
cross. Hasn't anybody come? Ion! Oh! 

For he has resumed his melody. She 
prods him with her parasol. He 
rubs the place ruefully and stops. 

Deaf old nuisance! . . 

Suddenly her face wreathes in smiles. 
She has spied the hat of a man. 
She tiptoes playfully down to the 
altar; 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Archie Legge, you naughty boy! . . . 

Only to find Prout basking there. 

I beg your pardon. I mistook you for a 
friend. 

Prout. No mistake, ma'am, I am. Every woman's 
friend. Professor Prout. Prout of Prout 
on Sex. 

Rosie. No really, how charming! Of course, 
youVe come to see the Altar. My hus- 
band's excavating, but I'm Mrs. Fleming. 
Pray don't move, if you're cosy. My 
friend, the one I thought you were, adores 
that place. Goodness knows why! — It's 
the hottest spot in the iEgean. 

Prout. Thankee, ma'am, I'm like your friend: I 
adore hot spots. What's the jigamaree? 

Rosie. The Altar! My husband's famous dis- 
covery! Isn't that why you came? 

Prout. Not precisely. I just happened this way. 

[Hi 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

in pursuit of a fine female butterfly. Then 
too, the delightful associations of the name, 
Eden, on the gate-post, naturally. . . . And 
here I am. 



Rosie. Fancy not knowing David's altar! It's 
thousands of years old — five or fifty, I 
never quite remember. The scholars rave 
over it. It is rather jolly, that spot of rich 
warm colour, in the middle of all this chilly 
marble. Decorative, don't you think? The 
Greek at the back of your legs will tell 
you what it's all about, if you read the 
wiggly stuff. I don't! 

Prout. Greek! I'm afraid my eyes. . . . Moreover, 
upside down. . . . 

Rosie. Please don't get apoplexy: I've mastered 
the translation. Lord, I've heard nothing 
else for three dreary years! To the 
Mother of the Gods. 

Prout. Mother! There again! Sss! . 

Rosie. Yes, rather sweet! Think of those be- 

[25] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

nighted pagans having a perfectly ducky 
idea like that! 



Prout. Yes, ma'am, it's curious how all these 
outworn anthropomorphic symbols keep on 
harping . . . 

He is interrupted by Ion squatting 
on the lawn beside him, to plait 
bines. 

Ion. Now I make a basket for the figs I bring 
her. 

Prout. Krr! Harping . . . 

Ion. Three year! A long time to be without a 
fig! 

Rosie. Please don't take any notice. It en- 
courages him. We have to endure him, 
because this is the one decent rentable 
villa on the island, and it's his. But the 
restrictions! . . . There! Even to fruit- 
trees! Simply, I suppose, because in the 
first idiocy of my honeymoon, I christened 
[26] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

the place, Eden. Selfishness, that's the 
trouble! Just plain piggish masculine self- 
ishness and lunacy! 

Prout (sotto voce). Lunacy! And he led me to 
suppose he was a biologist! 

Rosie. He's always pretending to be something 
silly. And you needn't lower your voice. 
There is that blessing. He's stone deaf. 

Prout. Deaf! . . . 

He turns suspiciously, but Ion is 
contemplating hidden things. 

Ion. My Moon, they shall know her by the love- 
ly song of Sappho. 

Rosie. There! Everlastingly chattering! See, 
what was I . . . 

Prout. The altar, ma'am. Its pregnant dedica- 
tion. 

Rosie. Exactly! My husband has written a huge 
book about it. I haven't read it myself; 
[27I 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

but it's fearfully clever. I grant, poor dear 
Papa did actually find the altar and, 
Heaven knows, left papers enough litter- 
ing the house; but what I always say is, 
David wrote the book! The recognition it 
has won him, you wouldn't believe! Nat- 
urally, I helped. A woman can do so 
much, don't you think? I don't mean in 
a horrid public way; but in the home, 
among friends, everywhere, just quietly 
pushing, hm? What is the good of know- 
ing people, if you can't use them? I'm 
afraid I'm only very old-fashioned. Oddly 
enough, David's book is all about that kind 
of woman. It is called, The Rib. You 
don't mind me going on with my knitting, 
do you? 

She fishes it out of her pink bag. 

Prout. Talking of ribs, ma'am, strange thing; 
but on the very first page of Prout on 
Sex . . . 



RosiE. No really, how delightful! We are all 
making trotty little comforters for the poor 

[28] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

fellows at the front. Isn't this war ter- 
rible? The royal families, how they must 
suffer: all related, you know! We have 
one staying with us now — a soldier, not a 
royalty — Basil Martin, the aviator. You 
must have read about him in the papers. 
Well, after that perfectly thrilling event up 
in the clouds, he came down here to con- 
valesce. An awfully decent sort and fright- 
fully brave; but just a weeny bit stand- 
offish! — Pity, isn't it? Men are so scarce 
in this wilderness. 

Prout. Not so very poly! Ah! . . . 

Rosie. Yes, you're going to scold me for a naughty 
little flirt, I know! . . . 

She fazors him with her pet pout; 

Everybody scolds me nowadays! Simply 
because I like nice men friends, instead of 
a lot of stuffy women. I don't care! . . . 
Look! Isn't that darling? 



She lets her knitting at him, a long 
limp reptile of uncoiling wools. He 

[29] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

takes the end, wraps it round his 
arm and plays with it as though it 
were some live thing. 

I have a friend, a dear ridiculous old maid 
who does everything. She started it for 
me. I'm only in my first row myself; but 
funny old Tilly did all this! Doesn't it 
prove what I was saying? Woman can do 
so much. To help, I mean. 

Prout. You mentioned flirtation. On that point, 
I . . . 

Rosie. My idea, absolutely. Ah, if only women 
would realise the influence they have in 
their hands already! After all, men merely 
want managing! But all this unwomanly 
publicity and unkindness to policemen! 
Surely, Home does mean something, or 
whatever was the use of writing the song? 
Indelicacy, that's the trouble! And I 
think they ought to be stopped! 

Prout. Touching flirtation, neurosis reveals. . . . Krr! 
It is Ion again, with a burst of song. 

[30] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. Ion! Ion! Oh, please poke him in the 
back with your net! 

Which Prout does. Ion rewards 
him with a face of beaming brother- 
hood. 

Ion. How do you do? Yes, I am here. I do 
not put in the oar, once! 

Rosie. Please go on. Don't let him keep on 
rudely interrupting you. 

Prout. What I wanted to say was this. You 
wrong me by supposing I disapprove of 
w T hat you call — flirtation. Indeed, I claim 
I may be styled flirtation's paramount 
apostle! . . . 

She wags a finger at him, signifying 
"Naughty!"; but he hisses her 
down; 

Yes, madam, a perusal of my book would 
show my viewpoint is most liberal. I 
maintain flirtation is a practice sanctioned 
3 [31] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

by every high and hallowed biologic prin- 
ciple. Take now, the example of the 
female stickleback . . . 

Ion. There is that drat telegram-boy, again at 
my fig-tree! Ail You Turk, wait till I 
come hold of you! 

And he fusses off into the garden. 

Rosie. There, you see! That tree again! Selfish 
old . . . 

So nice, meeting you! You can't imagine 
how refreshing it is, having a dear old 
gentleman to talk to, after a pack of tire- 
some boys. 

Prout. Nothing more natural! Indeed, in this 
very instance of the stickleback . . . 

Rosie. Older men are so much more — more . . . 

Prout. Unquestionably! When the flamboyant 
male of that affectionate little fish . . . 

Rosie. These sudden intimacies! Sometimes I 
think they mean we may have met before. 

[32] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Perhaps in some other world. Some bet- 
ter world ! . . . 

And so you have written a nice naughty 
old book all about flirtation! 

He drops his stickleback at once: 

Prout. Yes, ma'am, yes: in the larger sense, yes! 
Of course, when we say flirtation, there 
is flirtation and flirtation. We mean — flir- 
tation. 

Rosie. My way of thinking, exactly! You put it 
all so clearly! 

Prout. You appreciate clarity? — Ah, you should 
see my book! There's clarity for you — 
clarity and naked truth! Madam, you 
shall see it! I have one here in my knap- 
sack: several! I disseminate them wher- 
ever I'm — permitted. 

He begins fumbling at the knapsack. 

Rosie. Really, I don't deserve . . . 

Prout. Madam, you do; but you don't know why. 
I will tell you why. It is because you are 

[33] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

the problem I have been seeking all my 
life. I have found you down among the 
spiders, the anthropoids, the Himalayan 
Kulus; but never before as high as this. 
Mrs. Fleming, congratulations! Already I 
behold in you my next experiment. Scien- 
tifically you are mine. To express myself 
with radiant perspicuity: / know all! 

Rosie {weakly). All! About what? 

Prout. You. The other problem, the problem of 
the Beautiful Moon up yonder . . . 

He points to the villa. She gapes 
bewilderedly at the heavens. 

... I do not yet profess to fathom. It is 
you only, courageous female! And I ap- 
plaud you for it. 

Rosie. Then for mercy's sake, you fascinating 
mysterious old thing, explain. 

Prout. I will; and in one word. Hitherto we 
have employed the empty euphemism, 
Flirtation. What of — Polyandry? 

[34] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Polly — what? 

Prout. Andry. Comes from the Greek, aner. 

Rosie. Never heard of the place. Nor the lady. 

Prout {scribbling). There, ma'am, Prout on Sex, 
the fruit of all my knowledge, autographed. 
It represents the happy labours of a life- 
time. Take it, digest it and become wise. 

Rosie. How perfectly heavenly of you! I'll . . . 

She skims rapidly through the pages; 

I'll put it with David's and my dear 
Papa's! 

Prout. Ah! — Heredity! Who was Papa? 

Rosie. Why, you don't seem to know anything 
about us! Papa was Dr. Brand. Erasmus 
Brand. 

Prout. What, the great Brand? Brand that found 
the famous phallic . . . 
[351 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Absolutely! 

Prout. So that's where I am! Talk of coinci- 
dences ! And of course, you were the young 
girl! Not a day older, positively! Amaz- 
ing! . . . 

So you did marry the man? 

Rosie. Whatever are you trying to say? 

Prout. Why, IVe been here before. Fact! I can 

recall distinctly every single . . . 

No! There wasn't an altar. 

Rosie. Then you never saw me! That thing's 
been stuck there, ever since I came. 

Prout. How long ago? 

Rosie. Three years. 

Prout. Nonsense! My book's older than that! 

Rosie. I think I ought to remember the year when 
David and I were married! 

Prout. Very man, I mean. Brand's assistant. 

[36] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Bristly moustache. Fellow with a pick- 
axe, always jabbering Greek with you. 

Rosie. But I don't know Greek! 

Prout. Archaeology, then. Weren't you and he 
constantly . . . 

Rosie. No! 

Prout. Then I'm . . . 

No, I'm not! There was a girl. And I'll 
swear Brand said his daughter. 

Rosie. That was my sister. And I don't want 
to talk about her, please! 

Prout. Ah! . . . 

Just one little point. Her name? 

Rosie {snapping). Diana! 

Prout. The Beautiful Moon! Ah! . . . 

Sss! . . . 

Something is happening in the back- 
ground. A head bobs up. Then a 

[37] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

body. It is Archie Legge climb- 
ing over the zvall. 

Legge. Hello, Rosie! Guess what! Such a lark! 

Rosie. Archie, I do think, when there's a gate . . . 

He turns back to chaff someone below. 

Legge. What about it, dear old chap? Haw! . . . 
You know, he's overdoing this wounded 
warrior game. Bally old newspapers have 
made him dotty. 

Rosie. Oh, dear! Captain Martin coming? 

Legge. That's the joke. Too jolly slow for me, 
limping the long way round with him. 
Know what I did? Laid five drachmas, me 
handicapped, you the goal. Silly cuckoo 
took me, started; and I shinned the wall. 
That's what I call sport. 

He then alights, pulls his tie, and joins 
Rosie. He is pimply, forty, and the 
latest thing in "summer suitings"! 
[381 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

RosiE. You're horrid; and I'm angry anyway! 
Why didn't you turn up at the Kafenia? 

Legge. I say though, you look spiffing! And no 
beastly people about. You and me alone, 
what! . . . 

She restrains his approach, panto- 
miming frantically. 

Where?... 

Prout. Here! She means me. 

And he waggles his net over the altar. 

Legge. The deuce! 

Rosie. Yes, my new friend! We only met a 
moment ago, but it seems ages! Archie 
Legge: Professor . . . 

She takes a peep at the book. 

Prout {rasping). Prout! 

Legge. Haw! 

[39] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Prout. Sss! 

Rosie. The professor has given me a copy of his 
enchanting book! Sweet, isn't it? 

Legge {taking it). Ripping! . . . 

I say though, really! Sex, you know! 

Prout. I'll slip away quietly! — No, don't insist! 
Perhaps tonight at your simple family 
dinner. . . . Meanwhile, don't mind me crawl- 
ing around your cellarage, eh? Nice and 
dark! And there's a parasitic male rejoic- 
ing in such places, whose polygamous en- 
thusiasms . . . 

And he vanishes in a whistle of 
sibilants. 

Rosie. Ugh! I'm bored stiff! Here have I been 
making myself utterly killing, thinking that 
old grub might be somebody; and he's 
only an author! 

Legge. Really though, the bounder, giving you a 
thing like this! Not even as if he knew 



you! 



40 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He gravitates to the spot he adores, 
and opens the book. 

Ton my word! Very thing, Fve been 
saying all summer! Haw! 

And he plunges into Prout. 

Rosie. Well, I do think, considering this afternoon, 
instead of reading that silly book . . . 

Legge. Haw! Rotten old rip! 

Rosie. Archie! 

Legge. Hello, did you speak? I say, Rosie, listen 
to this. My philosophy to a T! . . . 
What's up now? 

Rosie. Oh, friends, friends! 

Legge. What's the matter with friends? 

Rosie. Matter! They're every bit as vile and sel- 
fish as — husbands! 

Legge. Rosie, don't say a frightful thing like that! 

[41] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

RosiE. Well, why didn't you turn up at the 
Kafenia, as you promised? You know the 
only happiness I have in the world is turkey- 
trotting! Yes, I know it's out of date; but 
some of us must stand for the beautiful 
old ideals! 

She fiddles about for a handkerchief. 

Legge. Fact is, little woman . . . 

Rosie. I did expect my own pals to support me! 
There I stood like a stuck doll, waiting to 
score off all those stiff Greek frumps; and 
the place a hideous vacuum! And it was 
for charity! Then you, instead of being 
sorry, sit reading footling books; and he's 
invited himself to dinner! I'm so broken- 
hearted, I vow I'll never, never trot again! 

And she melts into tears. 

Legge. Come now, that's sheer recklessness! Little 
girl, be chippy! 

But she is comfortless. He makes a 
book-mark of a blade of grass: then 
goes to her. 

[42] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Dear child, do think of me! Only a man! 
Woman weeping, don't you know! Gets 
me here! 

He blinks and tugs at his collar. 

Haw! Baby . . . 

Rosie. I hate you! Go away! 

He does; and sits, a little huffed. 

Legge. That's what one gets! If you knew what 
Fd gone through today! — Troubles, my 
Lord! And there's a bit here I wanted 
to read you about turkeys: only, of course, 
now . . . 

Enough to make a fellow do something 
desperate! Put an end to it all! 

Rosie {roused). Archie, you would never dare! 

Legge. Don't know! Thought of it only this 
morning. Shaving! 

The horror fascinates her. She stares. 

[43] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. Something's wrong with the whole world, 
it seems! First the war with its miseries. 
And now this. 

She looks at him; but he is lost in the 
amorous transports of the barnyard. 
She goes and touches him. He 
jumps. 

Boy, I'm sorry! 

He grunts, and holds the passage with 
a finger. 

As for my wicked vow, I didn't mean it. 
I never do mean anything. What, sever 
the one precious bond that links our loneli- 
ness? No, Archie: some things are too 
sacred! Turkey-trotting's one of them. 
Twinkle's another. 

He suffers her to share his lowly seat. 

Why are you so unhappy? 

Legge. Unhappy, what! 

144] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. No-one is happy, contemplating suicide. 
Besides, I see it in your face. The moment 
you bite your lip, I know it means you're 
suffering. Instinct, I suppose! That's 
what women are. for — to have instinct ^nd 
help the unhappy. Ah, how true that is! 

He blinks and bites simultaneously. 

Won't you tell me, Archie? 

Legge. Well, there is — something. Worrying all 
da}M Ton my life, these women! . . . 

Rosie {cooing). Ye-es? We're getting on very 
nicely ! 

She waits expectantly. He looks at 
his nails: then answers; 

Legge. Same old thing! Always the same old 
thing! Another letter from — Her! 

Rosie. From your wife? Oh! Poor Archie! 

Legge. Knew you'd pity me. Thanks, little 
woman. 

[4Sl 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He marks the book, and they clasp 
hands there by the altar. Present- 
ly, she falters with infinite delicacy; 

Rosie. Wouldn't you like to show me the letter? 

Legge. Rosie, I wouldn't for the world! She's as 
unsympathetic as a fish! Oh, these fishy 
women! And with a man like me too, all 
sunny warmth and love ! 

Rosie. I know, I know! Ah, how well, I know! 

Legge. Imagine! Wants me to go home now! 
Home! 

And he laughs most hollowly. 
Rosie. Horrible! 
Legge. And sarcastic! Listen to this! . . . 

He rips the letter from his pocket. 

It's quite safe now: the wars nearly over. 
There's marrying one of these unsexed 

[46] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

literary women! — Always so darned sar- 
castic! Do you ever remember you re a 
father? Me, mind you, who can't speak 
of Billyboy without lumps in my throat! 
Poor little chap! Then a lot of drivel 
about philandering in the Archipelago! — 
meaning, of course, you! Doesn't that 
shew you what Georgina is? 

Rosie. It all seems so awful! A life like yours, 
spoiled by such a heartless creature! 

Legge. Just what I say! By Jove, if only some- 
one — someone different, someone more like 
you . . . 



Rosie {very gently). I know what you would say, 
but it was not to be. Only, I have helped 
a little, Archie? Perhaps our beautiful 
friendship has not been wholly wasted! 

Legge. No, not wasted. Bit wobbly! Rosie! I 
say though really, Rosie — you and me, 
don't you know — eh, what? . . . 

His passion shakes her for the mo- 
ment. Then she answers steadily; 
4 [47] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. I will be your sister, Archie. Try and bear 
it. However it hurts. 

Legge. I have a sister. She's worse than Georgina. 

Rosie. These strange sweet intimacies! Perhaps 
they mean we may have met before. In 
some other world. 

Legge. Jolly sure of it, if you ask me. Anyway, 
that explains the Kafenia. Fellow can't 
very well turkey-trot with a woman like 
you, and this in his pocket. 

He rams the letter back again. 

Knew you'd worm it somehow. Now you 
know all. 

Rosie. / know all! What does that phrase. . . Ah! 
Archie, do you happen to know a woman 
of the name of Polly? 

Archie evidently does. 

Legge. Well, of all the caddish That's Martin! 

I thought some pure-minded, backbiting . . . 
Polly who? 

[48] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. I'm not sure of the surname. Sounded 
rather French. But I'm positive about 
Polly. 

Legge. Martin, I'll swear! Catch me telling him 
anything again! There's military honour 
for you! Yes, and that's how Georgina 
came to know about you! Captain Basil 
Martin, eh? Of all the sneaking, crawl- 
ing .. . 

Ion bursts in with a telegram for 
Rosie. 

Ion. Oh, that bad boy, how I grab him off my 
tree! There! It is the telegram that did 
not come. The cable, it was cut by the 
big war, and it is all a day ago late. And 
my Moon, she will rise, and not a fig in the 
basket! Oh, the Turk! 

And snatching up his basket, he trots 
back into the garden. 

Rosie. Now did you gather a single word, he 
said ? 

[49] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Legge. Lot of Greek gabble, no! It's that fellow 
Martin, I'm after! 

And as Rosie opens her telegram, 
Basil Martin limps in from the 
garden. He is in white mufti, his 
left arm slinged. 

Basil. Don't worry, I'm here. 

He drops five drachmas into his hand. 
Legge pockets them. 

Legge, you have all the delicate instincts 
of a millionaire. 

Legge. Come up by aeroplane? Bit slippy for the 
wounded hero, aren't you? 

Basil. Still solicitous about my wounds, dear boy? 
You know I'm only foxing. 



Rosie. Oh! . . . 



She has read the telegram, and now 
gazes blankly into space. 
[50] * 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Basil. Hello! Bad news? 

Rosie. Devastating! My sister is coming back. 
Tomorrow. 

Basil. Diana! Impossible! 

Rosie (reading). Arriving five tomorrow: Diana. 

Basil. How can she tomorrow, when the only 
boat . . . 

She hands him the telegram. He 
studies it very carefully . 

Ion said anything? 

Rosie. Ion! He's done nothing all afternoon, but 
sing silly songs and rave about the moon. 

Basil (slowly). Singing again, is he? What's he 
up to now? 

Legge. Picking figs. 

This interests Basil. He glances up at 
the villa: then returns the telegram. 
[Si] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

— 

Basil. Thanks. Let me see, Diana's been gone 
three years. She skidaddled just . . . 

Rosie {bridling). Just before my marriage! 

Basil. We're both egotists, Mrs. Fleming! I was 
about to say, just after I left for Central 
Africa. 

Rosie. I really don't see what you had to do with 
her going! 

Basil. That's true. We were great enemies. She 
never did love soldiers. 

Legge. Course, I'm only recent! Can't pretend 
to Martin's footing with the family! Posi- 
tively first time I heard you had a sister! 
But if she's anything like you . . . 

Rosie. But she isn't, she isn't! There's the 
tragedy! That's why I never mentioned 
her. Oh, the shame, the unutterable 
shame, the degradation! 

Legge. I say though, bit thick! Not really! 

[52] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. Absolutely! I've tried to hide it for three 
long miserable years! What's the use? 
Archie! My sister is — Diana Brand! 

Legge. Diana Brand! Your sister! 

Basil. Well, what the everlasting blazes, if she is? 

Rosie. Captain Martin! 

Legge. Yes, Martin! 

Rosie. Is it possible, you never heard? 

Legge. Did you never read the newspapers? 

Basil. How could I, you ass? I was busy dodg- 
ing lions in the jungle. 

Rosie. Since your return! Didn't they tell you, 
on the battlefield? 

Basil. How could they — Mrs. Fleming? I was 
busy dodging shrapnel in the welkin. 

Legge. Don't you know of the policemen? 

[S3] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. The trial, the imprisonment? 

Legge. The things she's said, the things she's 
done? 

Rosie. The thing she is! 

Basil. Good God, no! What? 

(together). A suffragette!] 



Rosie 
Legge 



Basil takes this very quietly. 



Basil. Good old Diana ! Down to bed-rock mili- 
tancy at last. Of course, I knew her in- 
terest in the movement, but— Policemen! 

Tell me, when did this — terrible pos- 
session first afflict her? 

Rosie. There's the mystery! — The very moment I 
announced my engagement. Jealousy, I 
suppose! After all, with so few men to go 
round, there must be some old maids, and 
why not Diana? So selfish! But there 
she was! Bounced out of the house — 
Hadn't even the decency to wait for the 
(54) ■ 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

wedding! — and began rampaging at once, 
all over the world. 



Basil. Humph! 

Legge. Votes for Women, don't you know. All 
that tosh! 

Basil. Ah! 

Rosie. Heaven knows, I'm not one to speak ill of 
the dead; but poor dear Papa was so 
foolish! Taught her Greek and gadding 
about and all kinds of unwomanly things. 
Why, she'd even go digging with him and 
David and the men! Improper, I call it! 
No wonder she couldn't get a husband! 
And her dress! . . . Well! — practically 
trousers! I suppose that's how it all 
began. 

Basil. Yes, I see the trousers! And there was 
that jolly Greek thing she wore in the 
afternoon. Blue, I remember, like her 
eyes! It would be just about this time. 
The day's digging was over, and she'd trot 
[55] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

upstairs to change. Then presently, we'd 
hear the beautiful Hymn to Aphrodite — 
Sappho's very own, to Brahms' music! 
And that was the signal for Ion, with figs 
from the garden. 

Legge. My word! Poetical! 

Basil. Why not? Diana's a pretty fine woman. 

Legge {interested). No — really? 

Basil. Oh, quite! Only — Legge! It isn't safe to 
tell her so, until you know her a bit! 

Rosie. Everyone to his taste, Captain Martin! 
I hope you won't be disappointed this time 
tomorrow, when Diana comes swaggering 
out here in knickerbockers! 

Basil. Mrs. Fleming, I'd endure her in a fillibeg! 

The voices of David Fleming and 
Prout are heard in the cellar. 

David. What the Hades! . . . 

[56] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. That's David! 

Prout. Don't apologize, sir! Step right over me! 
Simply a little enquiry into the ways of a 
worm! 

David. Wriggling down there on your stomach! 

And he emerges in muddy khaki and 
gaiters, bearing a pickaxe. He is 
a handsome, irritable-looking man, 
moustached, with imperious eyes. 

Well, another prodigious victory ! Something 
to make old Evans and the whole cabal of 
them turn green with envy! Guess what I've 
struck! A regular crockery shop! Minoan 
goddesses by the score! And a bull to . . . 

RosiE. David, this is no time for archaeological 
disquisitions ! I have something awful to tell 
you! How shall I begin? It's tomorrow! 
Tomorrow afternoon, at this very hour . . . 

A woman s voice floats out from the 
villa, singing the Hymn to Aphro- 
dite. They all stand spellbound. 
[57] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
David. My God! 

And a moment later, collects himself. 
Legge. How ripping! Who is it? 

Nobody answers. The voice comes 
nearer. 

Ton my word, that's what I call . . . 

He mounts the terrace, craning his 
neck towards the sound. 

Ion enters with the basket of figs. 

Ion. The fig, they are gathered; the clouds, they 
are passing away; the moon, she is rising! 
Diana! Diana! My Beautiful Moon! 

And Diana Brand steps from the 
loggia. She is dressed in a classic 
chiton of delicate blue. Her song 
breaks off. 

Diana. Of all the glorious surprises! Back al- 
ready! Ion said, not till six! 

[58] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Rosie. Ion! . . . 

Diana runs down the stairway, and 
clasps Rosie to her heart, half 
weeping. 

Diana. Rosie, darling! Oh, my dear, my dear, 
I've been a devil to you! 

Rosie. Ion said! . . . 

Diana. Why, it's quite a party! Splendid! And 
where is. . . . Oh! 

David is by the cellar. She faces 
him. 

David (gruffly). Well, Diana! Good crossing? 

Diana. Excellent, thank you, David. Bit choppy, 
this end. 

David. Ah! 

Diana. And upon my word, the bitter enemy of 
my youth! This is a reunion! What 
[59] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

quarrels we shall have! Still fighting, 
Basil? 

He is by the garden. They join hands. 

Basil. Not this moment, Diana. And you? 

Diana. Oh, you poor dear, I didn't. . . . Anything 
very . . . 

Basil. Just a fall. 

Diana. You mean . . . 

Basil. Yes: like Lucifer's. And you? 

He watches her whimsically, as she 
turns to Ion. 

Diana. And Ion with the figs! I knew you would! 
Ion, you darling, I must kiss you! 



Ion. Yes! 



Rosie, disgusted, joins Legge. At 
the same time, Prout pops out 
from the cellar. 

[60] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Prout. Peculiar thing; but love among the 
worms . . . 

He observes the kiss. 
Oh! 

And so back into his hole. 

Ion. (offering the figs). So! 

Diana. Oh! Ta sukobasileia! And sweet! — Um! 
. . . Melichrotes! Ambrosia!* . . . 

Ion, you bad old man! These figs . . . 
Ah! The Tree You Must Not Pick! 

Ion. That is just how you go too smart! Mr. 
Fleming, he will know the tree I pick for 
these! . . . 

David moves involuntarily. 

The tree, you plant together, the Day of 
the Altar! 

* Ta ovKofiaciXeia, the figs royal. 
MeXixporrjg, sweetness of honey. 
'Afifipooia, ambrosia, food of gods. 

[61] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Day of the. . . . Yes, yes, perhaps there 
was some little ceremony, some — tree . . . 

Diana (with quiet irony). I too dimly remember 
some — altar. 

Ion. That is so. He dig, you plant: you make 
a dance about it and a song for Aphrodita! 
Then you tell me: Go away, bad scamp! 
This tree, it is not forbid! It is ever and for 
always our tree: the Tree of Life! So! 

If required, the Curtain may aescend 

at this point. 



END OF THE FIRST ACT 



THE SECOND ACT 

Fig-Leaves 



THE SECOND ACT 

The Scene and the Situation remain unchanged: 
Rosie and Legge, up on the terrace; Basil and Ion, 
by the garden; David in the doorway. Diana stands 
by the altar. After a moment of embarrassment, she 
speaks; 

Diana. Won't somebody have a fig? Rosie? . . . 

The offer brings that lady flouncing 
down from the terrace. 

Rosie. Certainly not! I'm far too vexed to do 
anything so indecently irrelevant! What 
was that just now about Ion? 

Diana. Was there anything just now about Ion? 

Rosie. What's the use of pretending? He knew 
you were hiding up there all the time, 
[65] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. Hiding? I was changing my clothes! 

RosiE. Clothes! If there's one thing I loathe, it 
is hypocrisy! If people must flop down 
upon you unexpectedly, they — they ought 
to prepare you beforehand. 

Diana. But my own dear disagreeable darling, you 
knew! My telegram distinctly . . . 

Rosie. Telegram! . . . 

It is still in her hand'. She reads; 

"Arriving five tomorrow." 

Diana {brightly). Exactly! Meaning today. 

Rosie. Tomorrow meaning today! My dear, it's 
too transparent! And to think of that 
deceitful old sneak being in it too! A 
secret like you over our heads, and him 
plumping down there the whole blessed 
afternoon, like an evil-minded uncommuni- 
cative oyster! 



Diana. Ion! 



Both women are now focussing him. 
[66] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ion. Now I think I go and rake my rose-bed. 
That boy, he tramp it down, the — peri- 
winkle ! 



And he goes off pleasantly. Singing. 

Rosie. There, you see! Just piggish and insolent, 
all day long! I wish David would let us 
leave his beastly house! Horrid old grave- 
yard! 

David {testily). My dear, you know very well, 
with this infernal lease on our hands . . . 

Rosie. Other people can arrange leases. Archie can! 

David. Well, I can't! Other people be . . . 

Rosie. You could, if you would; but you won't! 
Just on purpose to annoy me! Lot of ugly 
marble! And then you to turn up sud- 
denly, startling the life out of me! It's 
all so inconsiderate! 

Diana. Well, but Rosie, sweetheart, I have owned 
up I'm a devil! I can't do more, now can 

[67] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

I, unless I throw in adjectives; and you 
know that isn't nice! 

Rosie. It's not even as if I'd had any tea! I 
come home tired and miserable . . . 

David. Oh, for Heaven's sake, Rosie. 

Basil tries to be diplomatic and go; 
Basil. I say, Legge, perhaps we'd better . . . 

But he gets jumped on for his pains; 

David. Certainly not! I shall deeply resent any 
such consideration for her feelings! Simply 
hysteria! 

Rosie. Nobody need go because of me! Lord 
knows / don't want to break up the happy 
party! I'm cross; and I don't mind the 
whole world knowing! I've had nothing 
but one exasperation after another, all day! 

Diana is going to end this. She takes 
Rosie, and with maternal hand plants 
her firmly on the bench to the left. 
[68] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Diana. Rosie, you naughty child! Now sit down 
and behave, do you hear? You mustn't 
fly off into tantrums for nothing. It isn't 
good for you. 

David. It's this — turkey- trotting! Thing, my 
mother never even heard of! Goes out 
simulating frenzied fowl! Then comes home 
like this! 

Diana (thoughtfully). I see! . . . 

Rosie (sniffling). Didn't turkey-trot! 

Diana. Didn't she then! Never mind, dearie, it's 
all right! 

And with sudden impulse, she hugs her. 

Rosie. Poky old place! 

She regards her boot, prodding the toe 
with her parasol, and from time to 
time continues sniffling. 

Diana. But come, don't let me keep you polite 
old things standing. Basil! David! — Oh 
[69] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

well, you always did like strutting in uni- 
form! Me, I'll take my ancient place in 
the lap of my Lady Mother. 

She sits on the altar and helps herself 
to a fig. Basil takes the bench, 
right. Legge already occupies the 
top step of the terrace. David, 
having made a movement towards 
Rosie's bench, elects to stand. 

That's the ticket! Now we're all comfy! 
Glad to see me, David? 

David {shortly). Course! Why not? 

Diana. Like old times, isn't it: me perched up 
here? 

Basil. Yes, and by Jove, doesn't it do the eyes 
good! 

Diana. A-ha! An unexpected salute from the 



enemy! 



And the tears come involuntarily. 

[70] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Basil. Yes, you don't deserve it!— Same old ter- 
magant, I perceive! But you look stun- 
ning! Doesn't she, David? 

David. Course! 

Rosie looks round at her and sniffs. 



Diana. Thanks, Rosie, darling! Oh, but I tell 
you, it's good to be back! I was beginning 
to doubt I should ever behold my beloved 
island again! Naturally, the poor Dad's 
death and all the memories. . . . Then, the 
War yonder and before that, the Move- 
ment. . . . And now suddenly this call from 
I on — nay> n ot Ion— God!— And here I am! 
Here in the wine-dark midmost of my glori- 
ous passionate iEgean ! Here on my island, 
my little jewel of an island! Oh! The 
very whiff of the air, the wind, the goodly 
blast of it intoxicates me! It began yes- 
terday, the moment I left the Piraeus. The 
whole of the way across, I felt it. My 
island, oh, my precious island, how I have 
agonized for you! — And now at last — 
Heureka! You can't dream, Basil — you 
[7i] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

never had it: you can't, David, you never 
lost it: what it means to me! This gor- 
geous sea, the flame, the wonder, the 
miraculous clutch of it! Oh, thank God 
for Greece, her blessed islands, her seas, 
her skies, the never-ending loveliness of all 
good Greek things! I thought I had lost 
them! I thought I had put the joy and 
the love of them away from me forever! 
And they're flocking back again! They 
are here! Like children! Like my very 
own! Here! Knocking at the doors of 
my heart! 

She pauses, mingling tears and figs. 
The silence is broken by an appre- 
ciation from Archie ; 

Legge. I say though, ripping! 

Diana. I am a fool, flying of? into long-winded 
dithyrambs like this! Only people always 
do, when they get excited! You see, I've 
been so used to — to speaking, the last 
three years: the moment I'm properly 
wound up, instead of keeping silent about 

{72} 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



it, I. ... I just get up and — and make a 
speech! 

And she takes a miserable little bite 
at a fig. 

Basil. Do it again, old girl: we like it! You're 
funny ! 

Diana (brightening). You wretch, how I loathe 
you! 

Basil. Well, I never did have any luck with you, 
Di! 

Diana {flaring). If you dare tocall me Di, again ! . . . 

Basil. There's the girl I love! Same old quarrel- 
some spitfire! And — Diana! Militancy 
hasn't thwarted your flirtatious wiles, ap- 
parently! Still sporting the feminine lure! 

Diana. Rosie, he's insulting my gown! He's known 
me so long as a navvy, whenever I dress 
decently, he begins ragging me! I suppose 
he's making your life a misery, these days. 

[73] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Why we ever endure him, I don't know: un- 
less it's just silly woman's weakness for the 
army. What do you do with him, Rosie? 

Rosie (sniffling). Don't do anything! He's al- 
ways digging with David! Desolate old 
wilderness! 

David makes a movement of im- 
patience. 

Basil. Anyway, Diana, suspending hostilities for 
the nonce, I will confess you've done 
yourself proud! Isn't that right, David? 
David! . . . 

David. Proud, of course, yes. Only, proud isn't 
the word. 

Rosie registers both appreciations. 

Basil. Spoken like a scholar: it isn't. There's 
only one word for it! Sorry it's not Greek, 
Diana; but you look — peachy! 

Before Diana can immolate him, 
Archie has another inspiration; 

[74] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Legge. And so say all of us! Haw! . . . 

Basil (sotto voce). Oh, my Lord, what have I 
done ? 

And Archie doddle s down to the 
altar. 

Legge. Positively, had the word on the tip of my 
tongue; and then let Martin chip in first. 
Peachy! That's the idea! Haw! . . . 

I say, oughtn't somebody to introduce 
me? — You don't know who I am. {Wag- 
gishly), Course, we all know about you! 
Haw! 

Diana. No, really! How encouraging! 

Legge. Fact, I assure you! All those policemen, 
what! And the magistrate Johnnies! 

Diana. Ah, yes, the Johnnies! 

Legge. Bit thick; but must have been awfully 
jolly, looking on. Forcible feeding, what! 
Haw! 

[75 1 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Hello, Rosie, pip-pip with that intro- 
duction. 



Diana. Is that necessary? Aren't we already so 
familiar, that . . . 

Legge. Haw, get you! These strange sweet in- 
timacies, what! . . . 

This brings Rosie to her feet at once. 

Rosie. It's Archie Legge. My sister, Diana Brand! 
My elder sister. 

Diana. Come now, Rosie, you needn't rub in the 
age! I'm only thirty. 

Legge. Really! Don't look it, I'll swear! Ton 
my word, if you'd asked me, I'd have said 
something more like — like . . . 

Diana. Something perfectly sweet and ingenuous 
like fifteen, I'm sure. Wont you sit down? 

Legge. Here at your feet? — Rather! Like a piece 
of statuary: you above, me below; Beauty 

[76] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

and the Beast, don't you know! (To 
Basil). What about it now, old chap? 
Haw! . . . 



His glee withers beneath Rosie's eye. 

Course, I mean — I'm the Beast. 

Diana. Thanks, you are very comforting. May I 
offer you a fig? 

Legge. Say though really, you're a sport, if you 
are Diana Brand. 

Diana. So glad, I'm satisfactory. Have another. 

He takes three and ruminates awhile. 

Our own planting, David! Catch! . . . 

David. Nonsense, no! I'm not a little boy! 

And he comes with great dignity and 
takes the fig, like a man. He then 
sinks meditatively to the left of 
Archie. 
177] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. Enemy! . . . 

Basil. That's me. Where's the juiciest? 

He rises and takes his pick: then, 
looking round maliciously, says; 

Hm! Think I'll be statuary too! 

He sits the other side of Archie. 
Rosie, isolated, scans the group and 
sniffles. Meanwhile, Archie's ru- 
minations have come to an end. 

Legge. Course, I'm not one myself. Georgina is. 
She's everything — Socialism, New Thought, 
Rational Togs, all that rot. My idea is 
this. I like woman to be a woman. Give 
me woman on the pedestal: woman, the 
good sport, preserving the respect of man. 
Properly speaking, I represent the Antis. 
The Home, Darning, Dinner, Babies — all 
that kind of thing! Something beautiful 
about that, poetical, what! 

The thought makes him blink a little. 

[78] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Course, I like woman to be friendly. But 
what I say is, Honi soit qui mat y pens el 
So you see! There! In a nutshell! . . . 
Get me? 

Diana. I never heard the case put better. 

Legge. Haw! How's that, Mr. Battered Hero? 
Always did like blue! . . . 

Rosie's sniffling becomes a downright 
whimper, 

Diana. Why, you poor lonely mite! Never mind! 
She shall have a nice little fig all to herself, 
she shall! 

She goes to her. The men rise, 

RosiE. I won't, I won't! I hate, I loathe, I 
abominate figs! 

Diana {thoughtfully). Oh! . . . 

Well then, she shall come and sit on the 
nice comfortable altar, with her naughty 
old sister! 
6 [79] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

She takes her there. The men in- 
stantly drift away: Basil and 
David, to the benches right and left 
espectively; whilst Archie, after 
spinning once round like a dog, 
squats in the middle on the grass, 
facing the women. Rosie mean- 
while weeps. Diana pats and pets 
her, mopping her eyes. 

There! That all right? 

Rosie. Nothing's all right! Everything's all wrong! 
Everybody's so selfish! 

David {rising). Oh, my . . . 

Rosie. It's all very well, saying, Oh my! — You've 
been happy, making a disgusting mess of 
yourself all day! First he goes neglecting 
me for a lot of snake-goddesses and mud: 
then he comes and says, Oh my! And I've 
had no tea. 

David. Then for the Lord's dear sake, my love, 
get some and . . . 
[80] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He'd like to say, "Choke yourself!" 
but darent. 

Oh, damn! I'll go and change my rags! 

And he gets as far as the stairway. 

Rosie. There, you see! Husbands are all like 
that! 

Diana. David, you horrid thing, apologize! 

David {turning). Well, of course, I apologize. But 
she's such a confounded little fool! 

And he commences to climb. 

Basil {grinning). Poison his tea, Mrs. Fleming! 

Legge. This Johnny here — book, Rosie gave me — 
has an awfully good bit about neglectful 
husbands. He says: The charming custom 

of the chimpanzee . . . 

David, half-way upstairs, has turned. 

David. Rosie gave you a thing like that? 

[81] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Legge. Yes, bit thick wasn't it? The woman did 
tempt me and I did . . . 
Ever heard of it, anybody? 

He shews the title with generous im- 
partiality all round. 

Diana. Oh! That old back number! 

Legge. What, you know it? Ton my word 
though, you and Rosie really . . . 

Rosie. I've never even looked at the loathsome 
book! 

Diana. Haven't you? Oh, I have. 

Rosie. I daresay you have. But if Archie says 
it's improper, I haven't! 

Diana. Improper? Nonsense! Out of date, if 
you like. Belongs to the dark ages when 
people honestly believed in Science and 
Mother Nature! Two or three years ago, 
you know. Before the Judgment: before 
the Great Awakening! To that pagan 

r 82 1 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

over-fed generation of prigs and pedants, 
Sex was the one obsession! They and the 
little whining crowd of poets and self- 
indulgents held it over us like a bludgeon! 
But now, real live men and women, spirit- 
ual beings, are coming back into the world! 
Improper! Nothing so fascinating, Rosie, 
darling! Just funny and old-fashioned, 
that's all: like anti-suffragism ! 

Rosie. I think Archie ought to know what's im- 
proper better than you! At least, I hope 
so. He's a man. 

Diana {amused). Perhaps you're right, Rosie. 

Legge. Well, I don't go so far as to say improper. 
Wouldn't like to say that about anything. 
I just say — sporty! 

Rosie {snapping). I call it disgusting! 

Diana. Idiotic's my adjective! I'll stick by that. 



Basil. Piffle's a good word. 

[83] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. What is the filthy work, anyway? I can't 
read a mile off! Name the unmitigated 
muck! 

They all do, together. 

Omnes. Prout on Sex! 

An avalanche of pans and crockery 
occurs in the cellar. A watering- 
pot flies wildly forth of the door. 
All turn, David descending a step. 

David. What in the name of Satanas . . . 

There is a general movement of en- 
quiry. 

RosiE. Stop! If you do anything about it, I'll 
scream! You'll only bring him back again, 
and we'll never be rid of him! 

Diana. Whom? 

Rosie. Archie knows. He's hunting for worms! 
It's the author, and he'll clatter our heads 
off! 

[84] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. I'll soon see whether any authors will 
clatter my head off! 

Rosie. Stop him, somebody! I'll scream! 

Diana. David, you're exciting her! David! 

David. Oh, well, if you're all bent on humouring 
her! . . . Only, it's such darnation foolery! 
Talking to me about authors! . . . 

He sulks, Diana looks like a snubbed 
naughty child. An embarrassing 
pause. 

Come to that, I'm one myself! You don't 
find me clattering! Hysteria! . . . 

Diana tries to make things gay again; 

Diana. That reminds me! Talking of authors, what 
a pig, I am ! How about the book, David ? 

David. Book! What book? 

Diana. Why, ours, of course! My father's! The 
book about the altar! 

[85] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Of all the cheek! That's our book! David's! 

Diana. Well, call it David's, if you like, little 
jealousy! He wrote it, I admit. Already 
published, David? 

David (nettled). Published! Merely a matter of 
some fifty thousand copies or so! I sup- 
pose you do mean my. . . . The Rib? 

Diana. The — what? 

David (tartly). Rib! 

Diana (disappointed). Oh ! Is that what you called 
it? 

David (warmly). And if I did! Why not? 

Diana (warmer). Why not! Only that I think 
perhaps the poor Dad's own title — es- 
pecially in view of the idea of the book, the 
significance he. . . . Besides, you had all 
his papers. 

David. That's all very well, Diana; but since your 
father's death, his theories . . . 
[86] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. Theories! 

David. Well, you know what I mean! In spite of 
this pretended ignorance, you did see the 
book, I presume? 

Diana {shortly). No! I've read nothing Greek 
for three years! 

David. Oh well, if you weren't even interested! 
It made noise enough in all conscience! 

Diana. Well, it was bound to do that! Its appeal 
to the Movement would at least ensure 
that! If I hadn't been so busy elsewhere, 
I myself even . . . 

David. Movement! You talk about Movement! 
What Movement? 



Diana. What Movement! Yours, mine, my 
father's! The Movement to which we 
pledged ourselves! The Woman's Move- 
ment! That was the book's strong point 
— the modern application, the significance! 
It was the meaning of this altar. You 
[87] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

don't think my father spent his glorious 
life delving into the mysteries of these 
islands, in order to provide lying little text- 
books for universities, do you? 



David. Well, what was his wonderful discovery, 
all said and done? 

Diana. The Primaeval Matriarchy! The dawn of 
the world when God Himself was Woman! 
Something to give to Feminism the au- 
thority of the ages! It was no mere New 
Woman, my father found! His was the 
Ancient Woman rising from the dead! 
That was something worth writing about! 
The very scholars couldn't kill an idea like 
that! It put the book beyond their blind 
stupidity and blasphemy forever! Even 
your fool of a title couldn't alter that! 
Could it? . . . Did it? 

David. Of course, if you want to be personal . . . 

Diana. Personal! Do you think I'm considering 
you? Answer my question! 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
David. What question? 

Diana. Do you wish me to say it all over again? 

David {spluttering). We'll have to go into that, 
some other time, when I — when I'm prop- 
erly dressed! Upon my word, what with 
one thing and another! And now that 
noisy devil in the cellar come to plague me! 
Exploded theories! Feminism! Hysteria! 



And he disappears grumbling up the 
stairway into the villa. 

Diana has risen, tense with emotion. 

Diana. It all seems so — disloyal! His own title! 
And his poor dying wishes — all . . . 

With a swift movement, she turns her 
back and goes up to the terrace. 
She stands looking bitterly over the 
sea. 



Rosie (to the men). There, you see! She's just 
like that! Always! 
[89] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Legge. Really! 

Rosie. Absolutely! You see, she'll make a speech 
presently! 

Diana. Oh, why didn't I know, why didn't I 
know! 

Rosie. Well, my dear, if it's the book you're still 
fussing about, it's been advertised enough! 

Diana {flashing round). Advertised! 

Rosie. Well, don't get violent! Only, you who 
always pretended to be so interested in 
everything Greek . . . 

Diana. How could I ? I've been slaving night and 
day at the Front ever since the war began; 
and before that I was in prison! 

Rosie. Prison! She brags about it! Prison! 

Basil. At the Front! Do you mean — Red Cross? 

Diana. What do you imagine? Murdering? 

[90] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Legge. Red Cross, how jolly! Tell us all about 
the war! 

She blasts him with a look, 
Rosie. Prison! 

Diana. Yes, prison, prison, didn't you hear? 
Heaven knows, that was advertised widely 
enough! 

Rosie. But you seem proud of it! 

Diana. Wouldn't you be? It was for the Cause! 

Rosie. Proud of being imprisoned for biting a 
policeman! 

Diana {fiercely). That's a lie! I never bit any- 
body! 

Rosie. Votes for Women then! Same thing! 

Diana. Why, of course, I'm proud of it, you little 
timid silly! It shewed God thought me 
worthy! Isn't Christendom proud of the 
[9i] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Lord Jesus being haled before Pontius 
Pilate, and mocked and spat upon and gib- 
betted like a dog? It's the same with all 
of us! Saints, Artists, Socialists, Philoso- 
phers, the glorious company of Martyrs 
and Believers, everywhere! Persecution! 
Scorn! Contempt! That's only the bitter 
witness of this world to the truth of the 
terrible witness burning within ourselves! 
You don't suppose that Kings and Cabinet 
Ministers and the Titled Scum that pan- 
der to their lusts in newspapers are going 
to stand the flaming blasphemies of the 
Holy Ghost, do you? Any more than they 
did in old Jerusalem! Or in the days of 
Socrates! Or at the Reformation! Proud 
of it! Of course, I'm proud of it! It links 
me up with Christ. 

Rosie. Did you ever hear anything so outrageous? 

Basil. Never! Never! Except in the Bible! 

Rosie. Captain Martin! 

Legge. Yes, I say, Martin! 

[92] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Basil is the picture of gleeful im- 
becility. 

Basil. Yes! Now I think I'll go and help Ion 
rake that rose-bed! Unless, Diana, an- 
other little speech from you . . . 

Ah! Come along, Legge! Something 
tells me we are no longer wanted here. 

Legge. Eh? What! I will! Bone to pick with 
you ! After all, playing the game, old man : 
playing the game! If you are a soldier! 

They go off arguing into the garden. 
The name "Polly" is heard echoing 
in the distance. 

Diana stands in proud indecision for 
a moment. Then she rushes down 
to the altar impetuously, pauses, 
and suddenly crumples up at the 
feet of Rosie. 

Diana. Rosie, darling, forgive me, forgive me! I 

didn't mean to be unkind to you: indeed, 

indeed, I didn't! Especially now! Now, 

of all times! It's my beastly temper! My 

[93] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

ungovernable tongue! God help me, I. . . . 
Oh, I am so unhappy! Why can't I be 
like other people? 

Rosie {sadly). You could be, Diana, if you'd only 
try! It'sreallyquiteeasy. Butyoudon'ttry. 

Diana {flaring again). I do try! I'm trying all 
the time! My life is one long agony of 
trying! How dare you say, I don't? You 
say everything you can to — to . . . 

I came here, nothing but love and for- 
giveness in my heart, putting away all 
bitterness from me: not meaning to re- 
member — anything! I wanted only to 
think of you! I wanted only to think of 
the loveliness of it all! Of the wonderful 
beautiful thing that's going to happen! 
And then every single one of you — You, 
most of all! . . . Why will you be such a 
damned little lunatic? Oh, oh, there I am 
again, like a . . 8 

Rosie {whimpering). I'm sure I do everything 
woman can, to make myself pleasant to 
everybody! 

[94] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. I'm a beast, I know that! I'm sorry! 

Rosie. Should think so! Making me miserable! 
. . . It's so easy to be good and kind to 
people! Why can't people be good and 
kind? It's the little things that count! . . . 

Diana. Cry-babies, both of us! There, mop up, 
and don't be an idiot! Silly fools! One 
thing I hate, it is having a scene like this! 
We're acting like a couple of — women! 
There! Better? . . . 

Now, let's talk about— It! 

Rosie. It! . . . 

Diana. Yes, the Secret. 

Rosie. Oh, these mysteries! What secret? 

Diana. Why, the Secret, of course! The Secret 
that brought me back again. 

Rosie. I don't know of any secret that could bring 
you back again! 

Diana. Rosie! The most exquisite secret in the 
world! Imagine! It came to me yonder 
7 [9Sl 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

— out there on the battlefield! I was sick, 
I was weary, I was worn out with long 
bitter watching of the dead and dying! 
Oh, that sepulchre of horror! And then 
That came! It was like a blessed resur- 
rection! That message of New Life from 
Ion! 



Rosie. Ion! 

Diana. Yes, he heard you talking about it! You 
and David. Down there, under the fig-tree. 



Rosie. Ion heard? But 
hears a single . . . 
Heard what? 



he's deaf! He never 



Diana. Oh, Rosie, how hard you're making it for 
me! Here am I, singing you my little song 
of Elizabeth, and you won't understand! 

Rosie. But you're frightening me! Tell me plain- 
ly what you mean. 



Diana. Darling, whatever could I mean but one 
thing? The holiest, the most precious 

[96] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

thing ever dreamed in the heart of woman. 
Motherhood, I mean! I mean — your little 
unborn baby! 

Rosie. Motherhood! I! 

Diana. Rosie! Rosie, darling! 

Rosie. Stop! Don't touch me! It's all a hide- 
ous mistake! It's not true! 

Diana. Not true! . . . 

Rosie. It's that evil eavesdropping old devil! 
He's got everything wrong! 

Diana. Not true! . . . 

Rosie. It's true, David and I did discuss. . . . 
Intimately, as married people will. ... In 
fact, we quarrelled — violently! Men are 
so selfish! But as for my ever. . . . On 
the contrary! The absolute contrary! 
That's why we quarrelled. 

Diana. In other words, you — repudiate — Mother- 
hood! 

[97] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. I don't see why you should object! I'm a 
free modern woman ! In that at least! 

Diana {slowly). Yes, I think I begin to under- 
stand. 

Rosie. Let's have no more of it! It's not a sub- 
ject . . . 

Diana. And I was useful yonder, among the dead 
and dying! . . . 

Rosie. What has that to do with it? 

Diana. Only that I need not have come here after 
all! 

She sits looking into unseen things. 

Ion enters from the garden, singing. 
Crossing the yard, he halts with glad 
surprise at the watering-pot. 

Ion. Ah, what I want! Some angel drop it for 
me! 

A rattling comes from the cellar. 

Yes! 

[98] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He makes once more for the garden. 
Rosie follows his every movement 
suspiciously. She now calls sharp- 



Rosie. Ion! 



A whimsical smile creeps over his 
mouth, as he turns back. 



Are you deaf? 
Ion. No! 



And he passes out, a thing of joy and 
high Greek song. 

If required, the Curtain may descend 
at this point. 



END OF THE SECOND ACT 



THE THIRD ACT 

The Flaming Sword 



THE THIRD ACT 

The Scene and the Situation remain unchanged: 
Rosie, seated on the altar: Diana, lost in thought, at 
her feet below. Ion's song is still heard, dying away 
down the garden. Rosie looks after him bitterly. 

Rosie. And that's the man, my poor dear dead 
Papa trusted so blindly. I always knew 
there was something sly about him. Only 
David never would listen to me. Men are 
such fools! 

Diana slightly shifts her position, but 
makes no other comment. 

If he had, we'd have been gone ages ago. 
It's not even as if there were any real con- 
venience. Granted, there's the garden and 
the fruit and all that; but Lord, the fuss, 
if ever anybody wants a fig! What did you 
do with them? 

[ 103 1 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Diana hands the figs. Rosie pokes 
among them, but the best are gone. 

Self, that's the trouble ! Nothing but self, 
self, self! If IVe spoken once about that 
bath-room door, I have a thousand times! 
There again! — Only one bath-room! I've 
spoken about that too. Of course, the sea 
is pretty. But I don't like sea. Mother- 
hood, indeed! What did he say precisely? 

Diana. Do you think all that matters very much 
now? 

Rosie. Not if you want to be disagreeable, dear. 
It was you first broached the indelicate 
subject. 

Diana. Sorry. I'll try and be more — feminine. 

Rosie. You needn't air any of your superior sar- 
castic speeches on me! I'm not impressed 
like some people. What's more, I consider 
your conversation just now when they were 
here, absolutely immoral! You may have 
thought it clever: but men don't really 
[104] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

admire that kind of woman. They de- 
spise them! Oh, how they despise them! 

Diana. The men! Ah, yes, I had forgotten the 
dear men! 

Rosie. Well, I can't answer for your precious Cap- 
tain Martin! But I'm perfectly certain 
Archie . . . 

Diana. What! Have I shocked the chaste Archie? 

Rosie. You've shocked every decent man among 
them! 

Diana. Yes, how many might that amount to ex- 
actly, out of the three? 

Rosie. You'll soon see how many! They won't 
stand any of your wickedness! Not if 
they're men! Nor your Greek! Nor your 
gown! Nor God's Name taken in vain! 
They'll hate you like poison! At least 
they're Christians! 

And she wails miserably. Diana 
turns upon her like a dragoness; 

[»5] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

rr | ■ 

Diana. Stop howling you — Rib! . . . 

The effect is miraculous. She stops. 

Legge and Basil are heard approach- 
ing from the garden. 

Ah! . . . Well I'm ripe for them! 

The two men enter, wrangling. Rosie 
breaks into a beatific smile. 

Rosie {sweetly). So you're back again! 

Legge. Ton my word, never heard such a bare- 
faced wriggler in my life! 

Basil. Legge, as Fm an honest worm, you wrong 
me! 

Legge. Soon know about that! Rosie! See that 
whitened what-d'you-call-it? Nice little 
surpliced choir-boy, he is! Flatly denies 
ever having told you a thing! 

Basil. I warn you, Legge, you are courting hide- 
ous doom! 

[106] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Legge. Did you or did you not deny it? 

Basil. Did! But . . . 

Legge. Don't wriggle! That's Martin all over! 
First denies: then wriggles! Hands me out 
a rotten old homily on Woman's Rights! 
Yes, you did: out there! You're no sol- 
dier: you're a clergyman! {Exploding). 
A woman like Polly has no rights! 

Rosie. Oh, yes, Polly! . . . 

Legge. There, that shews! Liar! She knows all! 

Basil {grinning). Legge, if you call me a liar 
again, I'll punch your head. 

Rosie. What I want to . . . 

Legge. One moment, Rosie! I'll settle his hash! 

Rosie. Yes, but is this Polly person . . . 

Legge {testily). Well, we all know about that! 
Polly is — Polly: never pretended she wasn't. 
[107] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

What's done can't be undone, spilt milk, 
it's an ill wind, awfully sorry and all that! 
But, my Lord, if you're going to make a 
political question out of Polly. . . . What 
do you say, Miss Brand? 

Diana. I fear I don't quite fathom Polly. I find 
her so far, vague — though suggestive. 

Legge. Course, I forgot! You don't know! Haw! 

And for the moment, he is taken 
aback. 

Diana. I'm sure, you'll be sweet enough to en- 
lighten me. 

Legge. Well, Polly. . . . Mixed company, what! 
However, Modern Thought, don't you 
know: Plain Speaking! No silly shame 
necessary, that I can see! — All cultivated 
people! Rosie knows, we know, and you've 
read this fellow! So there you are! Nut- 
shell! Polly!. . .Get me? 

Diana. Ad nauseam. 

F108I 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Legge. Quite so! Haw! . . . 

He pulls at his moustache. 

Same time, there's my wife. Georgina's 
all right, but she's one of these good wom- 
en, you understand. No earthly idea of 
simple unashamed affection. Man's Life, 
don't you know, Affinity, Self-expression! — 
Means nothing to her! Deuce of a row! . . . 

Seems to me, existence is one long wob- 
ble between some good Bad Woman who 
treats you — cordially, and some bad Good 
Woman who gives you a bally rotten time! 
Nothing personal, of course! 

Diana. Gratified, I'm sure! 

Legge. But for that holy-minded baa-lamb to go 
about blabbing it to everybody . . . 

Diana. Do you think, perhaps, he may be a trifle 
dense? 

Legge. Jolly well positive! Then to begin preach- 
ing! Him! And you know what soldiers 

[109] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

are! If there's one thing I hate, it is a 
moralizing aviator! 

Diana. One meets so many of them! 

Legge. Better begin writing tracts at once! Wrap 
'em up in sugar-paper and send 'em to 
your maiden aunt! Then he calls himself 
an officer and a gentleman! Hasn't the 
sympathetic instincts of a salmon! This 
Johnny knows more! Lord, I could laugh! 
Little Polly Froufrou, a plea for Woman's 
Rights! 

Diana. When she is palpably only one more plea 
for Woman's everlasting Wrongs! 

Legge. Woman's everlasting — what? 

Diana (fiercely). Wrongs, you leper, wrongs! 

Rosie. Diana! 

Legge. Haw! I see! — It's a joke! Woman's Rights 
— Woman's Wrongs! Awfully good! Good 
enough for Life. 

[no] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Same time, don't let's frivol! Serious 
side to it, after all. If you only knew 
Georgina . . . 

Rosie. Archie! Archie! Don't you understand? 
She means it! She's insulting you! 

Legge. Insulting me! 

Rosie. Yes, it's what they do! They're all like 
that, these suffrage women! 

Legge. But she . . . 

Basil. It's no use: he'll never understand! That 
kind of nymphomaniac never does! 

Legge. Insulting me! Do I gather that I am 
being insulted by a woman who has been 
forcibly fed? 

Basil. That's it, Legge! I see, I was mistaken! 
You're getting it! 

Legge. Why then, I am insulted! Grossly in- 
sulted! Never so insulted in my life! 
8 [in] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Won't stand it for one moment! At least 
I hope I am a gentleman! I — I'll go into 
the garden and pick figs! 

He goes out snorting. 

Rosie turns on Diana furiously; 

Rosie. I hope you'll never get a vote as long as 
you live! He's gone; and it's all your 
fault! 

Diana. Well, that's one good thing! Too many of 
these jigging perverts about, flaunting their 
cheap lusts in people's faces! 

Rosie. He doesn't jig! He's the only decent 
dancer in the Archipelago! And now he'll 
never, never, never come back any more! 

Basil. Diana, your last remark makes me grasp 
the Bacchce of Euripides, better than I 
ever did before. 



Diana {captured by the idea). That's interest- 

[112] 



ing! 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



The thought so fascinates her, she is 
about to follow it up; but she is 
switched back to Rosie; 

{Violently). Rosie, if you begin howling 
again, I'll shake the life out of you! 

Rosie. Yes, that's all you can do! Threaten and 
play the bully! It'll be bombs and break- 
ing windows next! 

Basil. Supposing I put in another little word! . . . 

They both obliterate him at once; 
Both. No! 

Diana. We've had too many little words from men 
already! The world is full of them! And 
that was idiotically out-of-place about 
Euripides, anyway! It's about time wom- 
en began talking! 

Basil. All the same, Diana, Verrall's great con- 
tention . . . 

Diana {stamping). Basil! 

[113] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie {fishing for him). There, you see! She's 
like that! 

Diana {stamping). Rosie! 

Rosie {stamping). I won't be quiet! I'm a woman 
too! I will talk! I will! I will! 

Diana. Rosie, if you keep on whining . . . 

Rosie. You great big coward, I hate you! 

Diana. This comes of the vaunted Happy Home! 
This comes of the four smug walls of the 
dear Protected Life! This is your beauti- 
ful middle-class comfort and respectability 
and all the other infidelities! Blaspheme 
the deeper purposes and responsibilities of 
God's world! Then howling and whining, 
and apes like that dangling about the 
house ! 

Basil. There's something in what you say, 
Diana! 

Diana. What do you know about it? 

[114] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. There, that's what you get! Serves you 
right! You wouldn't take my part, when 
she bullied me! 

Basil. Come now, Mrs. Fleming . . . 

Rosie. No, I hate you! I hate you both! I hate 



you! 



She bursts into a flood of tears. 



Diana. Oh, these Niobes! No wonder, men de- 
spise us! 

Rosie. There! Now she's back to suffrage again! 

Diana. Suffrage, you simpleton! 

Rosie. You began about men! What's that but 
suffrage? You're always arguing about it! 

Diana. I never argue suffrage! Nobody does! 
The time for arguing suffrage passed ages 
ago! All the decent people accept it: the 
others are only so many wingless waddling 
dodos! This isn't argument, you — eocene! 
It's plain womanish rage! I'm just an or- 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

dinary overtaxed infuriated human creat- 
ure, planted in a cosmos of gibbering 
lunatics! Oh, I know I'm a fool, I know 
I'm a fool, losing my head like this! You 
don't imagine I'm happy about it, do you? 
Argument! If you believe I'm standing up 
here, making myself hot and miserable, 
to regale you with Aristotelian discourse, 
you are jolly well mistaken! I'm simply 
telling you! The whole boiling of you! 

Basil. Nevertheless, Diana, pyrotechnics like 
this . . . 

Diana. Anyway, my pyrotechnics don't destroy 
innocent babies and cathedrals! 

Basil. True! Yet, as a serious contribution to 
the joyous occasion of your home-coming . . . 

Diana {with biting emphasis). Am I attempting to 
seriously contribute . . . 

Basil {inexpressibly shocked). Oh, split infinitive! 
Diana! And you the daughter of a 
scholar! 

[116] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Yes, she's always doing things like that! 

Diana {fiercely). Am I, you little prig? And who 
is it, that's always . . . Oh, what's the use? 
— Wasting time in a bedlam of chattering 
women and soldiers! {Starting again). One 
thing, I'll swear! Never again, as long as 
I live . . . 



David appears hastily from the loggia 
above, a thought in his mind. He 
is washed and "groomed" and 
immaculately clad in cream, with 
a golden blazer. He comes dressed 
to his doom. 

David. And another thing, Diana! . . . 

A door is heard slamming in the 
house. 

Curse that bath-room door! Why can't 
somebody . . . 

It's about that book, Diana! I've been 
thinking up there, thinking furiously; 
and . . . 

[ii7] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Meanwhile he has descended the stair- 
way. 

Rosie. You'd better tell him yourself! I'm sick 
of speaking! 

David {irritably). What's that? Tell whom? 
What? 

Rosie. Your precious Ion! If I've spoken about 
that door once, I have a . . . 

David. Yes, yes, we don't want the usual sermon 
over it! Everlastingly . . . 

Now you've driven clean out of my mind 
what I wanted to . . . 

Diana {ominously). That book! My father's book ! 

She adds with concentrated irony; 

The Rib! . . . 

David. Exactly! My book! The Rib! . . . 

And there momentarily he stops. 
They regard each other intently. 
[118] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie. Only wants one of those rubber things, 
they . . . 

David {explosively). Oh, Rosie, do for Heaven's 
sake . . . 

She goes and perches conspicuously 
on the third step of the stairway, 
dramatising God's Little Despised 
Worm. 

Basil sits on the bench, right, his 
head bent, thinking. And remains 
so. 

Rosie. Pigs! 

Presently Diana speaks; 

Diana. Well, what about it? 

David {blustering). Well, what about it? 

Diana. You intimated just now, you had some- 
thing . . . 

David. So I have! Volumes! IVe thought of 
nothing else, the whole time I was dressing! 
[119] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

What the devil's wrong with the title, I'd 
like to know! It's conveniently short: it's 
popular: descriptive. 

Diana. It misrepresents my father. It's a lie. 

David. It's been recognized by every reputable 
university in the world. 

Diana. So was Iscariot's kiss by the Sanhedrin. 

David {flaring). If your father were such a stickler 
for trifles, why on earth didn't he get you 
to write the book? You were almost as 
much acquainted with the discoveries as I. 

Diana {grimly amused, conceding the point). Al- 
most! 

David. Very well then! Why didn't he . . . 

Diana. Why? You ask me why? 

David {hesitating). Yes, I — I do! 

She searches him steadily and replies; 
[120] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. Well, there were- — reasons. 

David winces, but remains silent. 

For one thing, the poor soul died. Or have 
you forgotten that too ? Don't you remem- 
ber, there was a funeral: out in the little 
Cemetery of Apollo yonder — where he 
found the altar. Rosie wept, I recollect; 
and you made a beautiful speech! Quoted 
Pericles! That bit about ancestors! About 
lordly fathers! About the obligations we 
owe the masterly dead! 

Rosie 'sniffs at Pericles. 

David. Of course, if you care to twit me on my 
humble beginnings, my poverty . . . 

I admit, I owe your father much. Much ! 

But she shakes her head relentlessly. 

Diana. No, you can't escape me, that beggarly 
way. It isn't the humble beginnings, 
Doctor David Fleming! 

David {spluttering). It's all this infernal fuss about 
titles, I do so violently deprecate! 

[121] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. So I observe. I wonder what's behind it. 

David. Even the copyright law, with its multi- 
tudinous damfooleries, doesn't acknowledge 
titles! 

Diana. Oh, you're safe enough, legally! My point 
is merely honour, moral right! 

David. Well, and what moral wrong . . . 

Diana. Tampering with the fruits of another man's 
life. It's like infanticide! It's like child 
labour! 

David. All the same, thousands . . . 

Diana. Oh, I know it's done! It's done in the 
best literary circles! People get decora- 
tions, enormous triumphs, out of it! But 
what kind of a low-down cur, do you think, 
would lend himself to it? 

David. I must protest . . . 

Diana. So must I! A little more vociferously than 
you! Don't you understand? This is 

[ 122] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ananke, Nemesis, the Day of Judgment, 
come upon you! 

David. Well, since you're quoting, The Rib has 
good sound biblical . . . 

Diana. Listen, you shifty knave! There's more 
behind this temporising, than mere titles! 
Disloyalty upon disloyalty! I'll unmask 
them all! First, answer me that question 
you evaded just now, when you went up- 
stairs. 



David. What— question? 

Diana. Concerning this — Rib, you trickster! 

David. I tell you, that title . . . 

Diana. We've done with titles! Come to the book 
itself! What have you done with my 
father's Interpretation? 

David. If you'd only . . . 

Diana. My father's Interpretation! 

[123] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
David. Yes, but . . . 

Diana. The Interpretation! 

David. The entire archaeological outlook has 
changed, since your father's day! 

Diana. In three years? In these waters? During 
the war? 

David. It's terribly difficult to explain. You see, 
when one man writes a book, and an- 
other . . . 

Diana {impatiently). Provides every scrap of the 
material, yes, yes! . . . 

David. Yes, but all so disarranged, ill-digested, so 
fantastical — theoretical . . . 

Diana. Why, the whole thing was planned! Only 
wanted writing! Every particle of the 
evidence pigeonholed and docketed! And 
the Interpretation, with this altar as the 
sign and symbol of it, apocalyptically per- 
fect! 

[124] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



David. That was just the point. I tell you, your 
father's a priori speculations . . . 

Diana. Well? 

David. How can I explain, and you hectoring me 
like this? If you'd only keep calm . . . 

Diana. Go on. I'm deadly calm. 

And she is. But David blunders on. 

David. Of course, everybody admires your father. 
I myself owe him— lots. After all, he did 
. . . There was the altar. 

Diana {ironically). There was! 

David. Naturally, in those first days, we all got 
tremendously excited. These wonderful 
discoveries, and the recognition. . . . I'm 
afraid we rather lost our heads. And with- 
out doubt, your father's vigorous personal- 
ity, his fine rugged pioneer work . . . 

Diana. Fine rugged wow wow wow, yes? 

[125] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Well, damn it, since you will be rude, 
there was a reaction! There had to be! 
Theories are all very well; but, my Lord, 
theories that line you up with all the politi- 
cal anarchies of the present day. . . . They 
had to go! They had to! Men's minds 
sober down: inevitably, they take on judg- 
ment, balance, a more conservative safer 
point of view . . . 

Diana. The irreligious hounds, do they? 

David. Oh, the devil! You wont understand! 

Diana. But you're talking like some pettifogging 
Doctor of an university! 

David. Well, I suppose that's what I am! After 
all, Oxford, Gottingen, Berlin . . . 

Diana. My God! 

And she bursts into bitter laughter. 



David. Anyway, that's more than ever your 
father . . . 

[126I 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Diana. Black abominable ingrate! 

David. Oh! How can I make you understand? 
These actions are forced upon one! They 
are a necessity! They are a part of life! 
Almost a biological necessity! Like war! 
Like many things ! Can't you understand ? 

Diana. Oh, I understand, well enough! You have 
taken my father's glorious golden child of 
fire and crucified it for your own safe, sober, 
desecrating Rib! Oh, you have mangled 
the unborn babe in the womb — like those 
other pedagogic monsters yonder! You! 
You! You, that owed him everything! 
Why, the clothes you wore, your education, 
the bread that fattened your sly reptile life 
. . . Everything! And then — here! Here, 
among the miracles ! Didn't the very stones 
clamour against you : the glens, the caverns, 
the quarried wonders of his beloved king- 
dom? And the garden! There, where he 
and you and I. . . . When the nightingales 
. . . Oh, sacrilege! Contamination! 

And all for what? For recognition! 
For success! For the petty plaudits of the 
9 [127] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

universities! The universities that turn 
down classics for a bastard culture of 
efficiency! The universities that disqualify 
women, cast out pacifists, economists, 
musicians! The universities that foster 
atheism, or worse — revivalistic devil-wor- 
ship! The universities with their sinister 
background of the landlord, swindling iron- 
mongers, oilmongers, the canaille mon- 
archies! Do you think the poet-dreamers 
that revealed the ancient secrets of these 
sacred islands, cared for universities? Did 
Schliemann care? Did Evans? Did any 
of them care? No! They were the little 
workmen band of true believers, that turned 
their backs on dictionaries and dead bibles! 
The word came; and forsaking everything, 
they took up living pick and shovel, and 
they followed. My sublime father tran- 
scended them all! In a sense, he was all! 
His great spirit brooded over this iEgean 
like some olden God, transfigured and 
shewn anew. He offered us his precious 
child to redeem us from the pagan dark- 
ness of these Pharisees; and you, like Judas, 
have betrayed him! 
[128] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



David {feverishly). You have said cruel, unfor- 
givable things, Diana! Nevertheless, I still 
stoutly maintain . . . 

Diana. Oh, I know the fetters you have forged 
won't break so readily! 



David. What do you mean? 

Diana. What that old Greek proverb means — the 
one you used to quote so glibly: Character 
is destiny! 

David. I don't perceive the application. 

Diana. Look inside you, man! There at your 
black heart's core ! There where the hidden 
thoughts dwell unspoken, making and un- 
making forever the destinies of life. You 
know the secret thing, I name! False one 
way, false another! That's where all these 
piled up infidelities began! 

David. Infidelities! Do you charge me . . . 

Diana. Look inside, I say! Link by link, you have 
forged it for yourself! You can't escape! 

[129] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Not until you pay the uttermost farthing! 
Character is destiny! Out upon you, un- 
faithful servant! Faithless to your dying 
master's wishes! Faithless to your scholar- 
ship, your calling! Faithless to your breth- 
ren, the toiling comrades of the awakening 
world! Faithless first of all in — Love! 

David. Diana, how dare you! 

Rosie. David, don't listen to her! Oh, you vam- 
pire ! David has his faults ! — Nobody knows 
that better than I! He's mean, he's selfish, 
he's neglectful! But at least, at least he's 
faithful! 

She utters the last word in a high 
exacerbated howl. 

Diana. Ah! — You! I had forgotten your share in 
all this holocaust of desolation! 

Rosie. I'll be revenged on you for this, yes, I 
will! I'll do something desperate! I — I'll 
put it in the hands of my solicitor! I'll tell 
everybody what you are! 
[130] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Diana. Trumpet it in the ears of Zeus the 
Thunderer and all the choiring galaxies of 
high Olympos! Trumpet it through the 
echoing abysses of Hell, and rouse the 
wrath of Rhadamanthus! I'll trumpet 
first! 

David. Diana! 

Diana. He was mine — mine, do you hear? — before 
you came! Oh, I know no word was 
spoken! Only the trees whispered it! 
Only the maiden moon, the stars, the vio- 
let flaming of the dusk, looked down upon 
it! It dwelt within, the vast unuttered 
longing of our hearts ! An exquisite silence ! 
You came, and stole him from me! 

David. Diana! 

Diana. My father's illness helped you! You crept 
in like a serpent, whilst I nursed him, and 
you worked your poisonous will. You, the 
simple little school-girl from Germany! 
You, the little sly minx of the knowing 
mind, of the furtive novelette, the baby! 

[131] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

You, the little turkey-trotter from the 
boarding-school! You knew, you knew 
what you were doing! You came like 
Eve, that thief in the night, that wanton, 
that Rib of all the sorrows of the ages, and 
you robbed me of my Eden! I was his 
Lilith, that wretched, first, forgotten one; 
and you stole him from me! 

David. Diana! . . . 



Diana. And what have you done for him? This! 
Turned him and all the promise of his 
youth to spiritual beggary! What have 
you done for yourself? You are idle, vain, 
luxurious, you don't labour! You work 
people socially for your own ends! You 
fritter away your time with the lecherous 
nincompoops of that Saturnalia, the mod- 
ern dance! You despise your husband's 
profession; and yet you live upon his bread! 
You cadge! You sponge! Why, you are 
not even an honourable wife! You claim 
the advantages of a man's hearth and 
home: you prate of faithfulness; and then 
— you repudiate his child! 
[132] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Silence, you . . . 

Diana. Why should I be silent? I have been 
silent for three long bitter years! I will 
shout it to the heavens! I will shout until 
the Blessed Mother of God flings wide the 
windows of those glittering mansions, and 
looks down in pity upon Womankind! I 
speak no longer for myself alone! But for 
all women! All the despised ones! All the 
cast-out Hagars, the Medeas: the childless 
Liliths of Eve's polluted Eden! Aiai, 
epathon tlamon epathon megaton axi odur- 
monl* Oh, that ancient singer of the 
woes of women — "the human, with his 
droppings of warm tears" — he knew! . . . 
He knew! . . . 

She is about to break down. 

David. Nevertheless, I invincibly maintain . . . 



Diana. Out of my path! I have done with men 
now! 

* alal, tTraOov rXayuov titaOov fxsyaXcjv a£i' ddvpfxutv. Woe is me! I 
have suffered, I have suffered, mighty wrongs, worthy of lamentations! 
(Euripides, Medea, in.) 

[133] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

And recovering herself, she passes like 
flame into the garden. 

David is left stupefied for the moment. 

Basil rises heavily from his medita- 
tion. 

David. Basil, I give you my word of honour as a 
gentleman . . . 

Basil. Oh, go to the devil! I'm after Diana! 

He limps into the garden. 

David turns towards his wife. She 
is glaring at him. He glares back 
again, bristling his moustache. 

If required, the Curtain may descend 
at this point. 



END OF THE THIRD ACT 



THE FOURTH ACT 

Thorns and Thistles 



THE FOURTH ACT 

The Scene and the Situation remain unchanged: 
Rosie and David stand glaring at each other. The 
first violet touch of twilight faintly tinges the JEgean sky. 

Rosie. To think that such a thing should happen 
to me! And I've done nothing whatever 
to deserve it! 

David. Rosie, do for God's sake stop ventilating 
your own personal feelings! I'm the real 
sufferer, not you! Do think a bit about 
me! 

Rosie. But she said that you and she . . . 

David. She also said that you and that nincom- 
poop . . . 

Rosie. Yes, but here! In my own Eden! It all 
seems so . . . 

[i37] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Well, well, and what then? I confess to a 
certain streak of sentimentality inherited 
from my mother. Racial, I suppose! She 
was. . . . Besides, it's not true! Didn't you 
hear her say, no word was spoken? Can't 
a man have a racial streak from his mother, 
without you . . . 

Rosie. Yes, but Diana! My own sister! She 
said you were an evader! If there's one 
thing I loathe, it is unfaithfulness! 

David. But I'd never even met you! 

Rosie. You should have known! You should have 
known, that I was waiting for you in the 
Yet-to-be! 

David. There you go again! Here am I, a man 
whose whole career is blasted, his ambitions 
blown to smithereens by that woman; and 
you do nothing but discuss your own 
wounded little vanities! Can't you realize 
the immensity of this tragedy? It's cata- 
clysmic! It's like the war! It's like the 
toppling of an empire! And you choose 
[138] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

just this moment, when I am girt in by 
an implacable iron ring of enemies . . . 

Rosie. Enemies! . . . 

David. Yes, pack of myopic degenerates! And 
they can't see, they simply can't see how 
right I am! Curse them, oh, curse them! 
I tell you, the hymn of hate that rises up 
in my heart . . . 

Rosie. But there's only one! Only Diana! 

David. She'll tell everybody! There's not a news- 
paper in the world that won't back up her 
story! As for these others, my competitors, 
don't you know, the whole perfidious crew 
is against me? Just waiting for my down- 
fall! Well, they've forced this thing upon 
me! If it's war, I'm prepared for them! 
Envy, that's the secret! Envy of my at- 
tainments! Envy of my far-flung reputa- 
tion! Envy of my — well, culture and 
efficiency! 

Rosie. I know it's dreadful to be misunderstood! 

[i39] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. I don't mind being misunderstood, if they'd 
only stop interfering with my schemes! 
A man like me is bound to be misunder- 
stood! What do they know of advanced 
Zarathustrian psychology? That woman 
prates of your father's scholarship! What 
of me? I'm a super-scholar! This isn't 
egotism! This isn't megalomania! It's 
simply a priori subjective assurance of 
manifest destiny: I know I'm It! Got it 
from my mother! As a child, I strutted 
with a little cocked hat and a flag and a 
drum, singing, Me above everybody! And 
then to be goaded from my peace-loving 
life, by battalions of grasping barbarians, 
who won't even acknowledge their in- 
famy! 

Rosie. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! . . . 

David. Oh, Shakespeare, my Shakespeare: so much 
mine, I could almost believe I wrote him! 
He knew! He knew, when speaking out 
of the agony of his great heart, he said: 

The world is out of joint! Oh, cursed spite, 
that ever I was born to set it right! 
fi4o] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Rosie. Now, he's spouting! 

David. There's one thing! If I'm dragged down, 
they shall all come too! I've prepared for 
this! I believe in preparedness! I laid 
my plans long ago — when I was in your 
father's employment! I saw the old man 
weakening, long before anybody else did! 
I calculated to a nicety! Then when at 
last, the day . . . 

Rosie. As though any of it really very much 
mattered! 

David. You'll know soon enough, whether it mat- 
ters! When we are beggared! No more 
home comforts! No more entertainments! 
No more jolly little dinners! . . . 

By the bye, what was that mess you gave 
me for lunch? You know I like my food 
wallowing in butter! And now, on top of 
everything — This ! 

Rosie. That was your darling Ion! I knew you'd 
be cross! 

[141] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Seems to me, wherever I turn, my will is 
thwarted, my loftiest ideals profaned! My 
mother was the only woman that could 
ever manage kidneys! Then for that 
shameless hussy, your sister, to stand up 
there and brazen me out . . . 

Rosie (on her mettle). Anyway your mother 
couldn't . . . 

David (on his). She never mistook dry shreds 
of desiccated rag for kidneys! 

Rosie. You should hear Ion about your mother! 

David. There, I'm done with you! I'm done with 
the whole family! Oh, loneliness! Oh, in- 
tolerable loneliness of the Over-soul! I'll 
be revenged for this! I'll think out some- 
thing catastrophic, irrevocable, some deed 
of frightfulness! I'll — I'll send in my 
resignation! I . . . 

No, I won't! That would be too simple! 
They might not see the heroism of that! 
Something with more sentiment to it, more 
drama! ... Ah! I have it! 
[142] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Rosie (whimpering). Always this, always this! 
When there's kidneys! 

David. Yes, that's the idea! Yonder, on some tall 
cliff overlooking my own iEgean, my cloak 
about me, lonely, like an emperor: the 
pistol at my head. . . . 

Rosie. My God! It's in the air! 

David. Then, when they'd all be crying, Crucify! 
. . . And yet, perhaps, before the fatal 
moment, one little speech, a swan-song . . . 

Rosie. David! David! . . . 

He gazes at her, long and terribly. 

David. Rosie, you are right! I see! I see! Death 
would be sublime; but it is prouder, braver, 
grander still to live and face them out! 
Eternal-Womanly, ever beckoning, you 
have shewn me the diviner way! I'll live 
and civilize them! 

Rosie. My hero! 
io [ 143 ] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Not quite, my pole-star; but I will be! 
Yes, I see the way! That book, it was 
entrusted to my sacred care by One alone! 
We two will guard it! Myself and God! 
Yes, with the sword unscabbarded if needs 
be, against any woman in the world! 

And as he says it, he looks every inch 
a king. 

Somebody coming! If it's Diana, don't 
say where I am. I'll slip out quietly. 

He darts for the cellar; but on the 
threshold jumps as though stung. 

What the . . . 

And he sneaks upstairs swiftly into 
the villa. A moment later, Archie 
lounges in lugubriously from the 
garden. 

Rosie. Oh, it's you! 

Legge. Yes, it's me. 

[i44] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Rosie. Boy! 

Legge. Little woman! 

Rosie. Won't you sit down? 

They do so, at the base of the altar. 

Archie, I have some bitter news to break 
to you. 

Legge. Really! That's odd! I have some bitter 
news to break to you! 

Rosie. Try and be brave, Archie! Nobly, for my 
sake! 

Legge. Ton my word! Very thing, I wanted to 
say myself! 

Rosie. Why, what can you . . . 

Legge. No! Ladies first, Rosie! 

Rosie. Then, briefly. Archie— Oh, my poor boy!— 
We must part forever! 
[i45l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Legge. Positively uncanny! That's the identical . . . 

Rosie. I know what you would say! Your soul 
divined it! I'm like that too. After all, 
sympathy such as ours surpasses words! 

Legge. Yes, but Rosie . . . 

Rosie. No, Archie, please! I can't bear it! I 
know the passionate longings, the unut- 
tered anguish, the vain regrets! I can 
read them in your eyes! 

He blinks. 

Let them rest there. Life is very hard, 
isn't it, Archie? 

Legge. Bally awful, if you ask me. 

Rosie. And this is the end. You will go your way; 
and I, mine. Like that other ill-starred 
couple in the Long-ago. I'm Josephine: 
you are Napoleon. I must follow my 
destiny. Only, I believe in history, it was 
the other way about. 
[146] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Legge. Quite so. 

Rosie. Isn't it strange, Archie, in misery like ours, 
when all else fails, there is still one com- 
fort left! Destiny, Fate, the Thing that 
Had to Be! 

Legge. Often thought so myself! 

Rosie (her heart breaking). Oh, Archie, Archie, 
shall you ever forget That Night? That 
night of the naval ball! The night they 
sank the battleships! 

She quavers a sad remembrant phrase 
of haunting rag-time. 

Do you remember? . . . 

Legge. Rather! . . . And afterwards, don't you 
know, the lobster . . . 

Rosie. Yes, the dear broiled lobster too! Each 
tender thought has place in memory's sad 
dream! Poor foolish tears! . . . 

He blinks. She hands him her hand- 
kerchief. He dabs, and gives it back. 
[147] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Do you know, Archie, I have a presenti- 
ment, I shall never never dance again! 

Legge. No, really! Why? 

Rosie. Something whispers it! I'm like that! In 
the first place, there'll be no men! Doesn't 
the war come home to one? And then, 
with all that grief abroad, it may not be 
considered quite — the thing! No! I shall 
turn elsewhere. I shall find my place, be 
sure of it! Not so happy a place perhaps; 
but no less beautiful! I will take up some- 
thing noble! Something sorrowfully lofty! 
Something to help a little. Possibly — 
spiritualism. 

Legge. I was thinking of golf, myself. 

Rosie. Do, Archie. It will buck you up. 

And now, before Good-bye. . . . You have 
heard my bitterness. What's yours? 

Legge. There's the joke ! Precisely the same thing ! 
We must part forever! Haw! 



Rosie. What! . 



[148] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Legge. Fact! Funniest thing I ever struck in my 
life! Got my things packed this after- 
noon! That's why I disappointed you at 
the Kafenia! 

Rosie. But Archie, why? 

Legge. Deuced awkward to explain! You see, in 
that letter I wouldn't shew you, Georgina 
said — I jolly well had to! 

Rosie (rising). Oh! Good-bye! 

She has the manner of an icicle, 
Legge (rising). Tra-la-la! 

He is going: but returns. 

I say, Rosie, last time, don't you know! 
Just one turn! 

He tootles and assumes a gallinaceous 
posture. She remains unmoved. 

Come now, Rosie, be a sport! 
[i49] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He flaps and squirms abdominally; 
but already her soul is turned to 
higher things. 

Basil, watch in hand, re-appears 
from the garden. 

Basil. Legge, your boat sails in fifteen minutes. 
Now, don't argue! Remember what I 
said! When the Harbour Master's gun 
goes off, you do. 

Legge. Why, the gun? 

Basil. Sundown: all safe! The vessel's neutral 
and babies aboard; so you mayn't be 
submarined! 

Legge. Submarined! . . . 

Basil. You have a quarter of an hour. 

Legge. But . . . 

Basil. Quarter of an hour. Come! I see Miss 
Brand approaching. 

Legge bolts at once for the cellar. 
[150] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Legge (within). Oh, get out of my way! 

There is a sound of hissing. 

Basil. They fizzle at the end, don't they? These 
— affinities! 

Rosie. Captain Martin, Basil . . . Let me call you 
Basil! I am so unhappy! Won't you be 
kind to me? 

Basil. I can't! I'm lame. 

David creeps out from the loggia. 

Hello, David! Come down. 

David. I will brook no commands from . . . 

Basil. Don't be an histrionic ass: come down, 
man! I want to talk to you. 

And something in his tone makes him 
obey. He stands with Rosie on 
the left. Basil is in front of the 
altar. 

us*] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Still sulking, because I told you to go to 
the devil? Did you go? 

David. Don't try to be funny! 

Basil. I'll be serious enough, presently. Ah, here 
she is! 

Diana rushes in determinedly from 
the garden. Seeing them, she stops 
dead. 

Well, Di! 

Diana. Diana! 

Basil. Di! I'm in command here. 

And she is silent. 

Now, we're the whole happy family to- 
gether again! Nice typical example of the 
blessings of Home, Sweet Home! 

Automatically, they all turn their 
backs upon him. 

[152] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

You wouldn't do that, if you saw what 
I had in my hand. 

They turn again. He has nothing. 

Diana {laughing in spite of herself). Silly idiot! 

Rosie sniffs. David looks as if all 
this is in very poor taste. 

Basil. That's better! Let me see your pretty 
faces. 

The women stiffen. David im- 
perialises. 

Now, I'm here on ticklish business. I'm 
here offering a priceless boon. If I suc- 
ceed, the boon is yours. I shall probably 
come off with unpleasantness anyway. In 
a word, I'm here to see if we can't turn this 
hopeless muddle into a Peace Conference. 

Rosie. I won't! 

David. I won't! 

[iS3l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. I won't! 

Basil. Splendid! We're beginning properly al- 
ready. 

They look as if they could devour him. 

Diana. I will say just this one thing. It's what 
I came back for — that and my scarf. 
David, you are nearest. Thanks. 

The transaction is made via Basil. 
Rosie sniffs. 

It's this. I'm sorry I was so — excessive, 
just now. I apologize for many of the 
things I mentioned. We needn't go into 
particulars, but you all know what I mean. 
I said things that were caddish and un- 
ladylike and horrid! {Flaring). And that's 
as far as I'll go for anybody present! 
Whoever she may be! 

Rosie. That's just like her! She can't even . . . 

Diana. Rosie, you ungenerous little beast, if you 
dare to answer back . . . 
[154] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David. Yes, that's how these polemical females, 
the shrieking sisterhood . . . 

Diana. You be silent! I'm not talking to you! 
I'll never talk to you again as long as I 
live! 

Basil. Am I, or am I not, the president of this 

Conference ? 

They all snap at him together; 

Omnes. You — are — not! 

David. My mother always said that women who . . . 

Diana. Mother! How dare you profane the name? 

David. Profane! I'm honouring her! She made 
me what I am! 

Diana snorts hysterically. This gets 
David's dander up. 

Anyhow, she was no suffragette! She 
sprang from a long illustrious line of pro- 
lific protestant housewives! 

[155] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Diana. Lord, can't you imagine how he's written 
the book! 

David. My mother was . . . 

Rosie. Now you've started him on his mother, 
he'll never never stop! I'm sick to death 
of his mother! I hear nothing but his 
mother, morning, noon and night; and I'm 
tired of her! 

Diana. Rosie, stop howling! 

Basil. Steady on, Diana. Don't be imperialistic! 
Give the little nationalities a chance! 

Diana. Well, and if we're nationalities, which is 
he? He's . . . 

Basil. Don't say it, Diana! That's carrying 
symbolism too far. 

Diana. Well, don't you dare to call me Germany! 
Or England! Or Russia! I won't be any 
of their filthy empires! I'm something 
crushed and hurt and hideously broken! 
I'm Belgium! 

[156] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Basil. Leopold's or Albert's? 

Diana. Well, I'm not as abominably outrageous as 
the one! 

Basil {slowly). Nor as abominably outraged as 
the other. Come, you be Poland; and 
pull yourself together. 

Diana hesitates: then sinks down, 
and dissolves. There is a long 
silence. 

Yes, the thought of those two agonies 
ought to gag all our mouths. 

There is a longer silence. 

And that's how it all goes. Hatred, pas- 
sion, bitterness, idle recrimination, vio- 
lence — everything but getting down to the 
root of the matter and putting it right. 
It isn't that the underlying causes don't 
go deep enough; but, my Lord, the inap- 
propriate way of dealing with them! That's 
what troubles me, the inappropriateness, 
[i57l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

the non sequitur of it all! Really, your lit- 
tle tin-pot quarrel here is very like that 
monster one out yonder. Landless Fritz 
and disinherited Bertie are now busy cutting 
each other's throats. In God's name, why ? 
Because a gang of emperors and million- 
aires, lusting after a lump of gold in an- 
other man's land, twaddle a few obscenities 
about flags and fatherlands. Or mother- 
lands, it doesn't much matter. I'm insult- 
ing all their blasted nationalities, including 
my own. 

Diana. I . . . 

Basil. Yes, Diana? 

Diana. Never mind. Go on. 



Basil. Of course, we are every one of us fighting 
for the right! So is David. So is Rosie. 
We are all pillaging and butchering one 
another, in order to maintain civilization. 
Yes, but which? The civilization of the 
Kaiser and his gentle son? The civiliza- 
tion of Lord Northcliffe ? The civilization 
[ 158] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



of Siberia and Bloody Sunday? Of the 
Turkish harem, the Serbian bomb, Italian 
intrigue? Or a new civilization of all the 
workers of the world, pledged to dispossess 
these . . . 

You're a linguist, Diana. What's the 
word? 



Diana. There isn't one. 

David makes an angry movement 

Basil. Yes, we know your word, David! David's 
word, David's book about these things, 
dominates the whole of Europe! Many 
books! White, yellow, grey, every colour! 
What the world is waiting for is Diana's 
book, Diana's Father's book, not David's! 
Some day, I suppose the peoples will arise 
and demand it, if they have to crack the 
chancelleries with sledge-hammers! 

David. Humph! Violence, now! 



Basil. 



ii 



Why not?— I'm a soldier! If I have 

hitherto shed blood for David's lie, why 

not, henceforward for Diana's truth? 
[159] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Deeply considered, perhaps this war does 
present just such an alternative. What is it, 
but the last great struggle between wom- 
an's world, that preserves and organises and 
makes alive; and man's that makes de- 
struction? There have been too many 
Davids managing affairs. Let's have Diana 
for a change. 

David. What about carrying symbolism too far, 
now? 

Basil. Don't you perceive, you pedantic ass, that 
I am speaking dramatically? Have you 
no imagination? Here am I, trying to up- 
lift you from the slough of your own petty 
lives into a realm of pure theoria — That's 
the word, isn't it, Diana? — and you keep 
butting in with the trivial objections of a 
stockbroker. 



David. Nevertheless, any invasion of my God- 
sanctioned rights in that book or anything 
else, I will resist with . . . 

Basil."' Oh, come off it, Billy Strutabout! We 

really are a little sick of you! . . . 

[160] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

It's this damned impenitence of heart, 
that gets me! No sense of sin anywhere! 
No decent cleansing self-contempt! We 
are all so blatantly assured of our election! 
And we prove it by the number of dead 
things we pile around us! I suppose it's 
part of our disgusting religion! . . . 

He pauses a little, thinking deeply. 

Come to that, I'm not unscathed! I 
have sinned more grievously than you all. 

They look at him enquiringly. 

If it were not for one thing . . . 

Diana. One thing — Yes? . . . 

He fixes her with a long curious gaze. 

Rosie. What did you do, exactly? 

He fixes her. 

Basil, Exactly? 

f 161I 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Rosie. Yes. 

Basil. Murder. 

Rosie. Murder! . . . 

Basil. Cold-blooded murder, too: that's the worst 
of it! No excuse in passion, for the deeds 
I did! I have slaughtered cynically, 
laughing like a sportsman, counting my 
bag. You, David, have falsified a great 
scholastic trust. I have destroyed past 
recovery, the garnered learning of the 
ages. You have repudiated prospective 
motherhood. I have massacred sleeping 
babies. 

Rosie. Murder! . . . 

David. He means militarism. That's this new- 
fangled pacifist way of talking. 

Basil. Yes, the new way! You see, war doesn't 
look as beautiful to soldiers as it does to 
patriots. I say this, who have served it 
with the devotion of an anchorite. Yes, 

fl62l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

David's book tricked me: I have no cause 
to flout him. I have given to lies, the 
energy and zeal that might have saved the 
world. If I had only stopped to puzzle out 
the meaning of these words they offered 
me! — Honour, national destiny, your coun- 
try, and the rest of it. But no! They 
waved a flag before me, muttering the 
usual incantations, and I followed. I am 
a soldier: I have always followed flags! 
I am a soldier: I have never questioned 
anything! I am a soldier: I have never 
dared to disobey ! Yes, David's old-fangled 
gospel of the Beast with the Horns of 
Blasphemy bound me long enough! ... A 
thousand years! . . . 

But now, at last, I am free! 

He pauses again, striving to remember 
something. 

There was a word uttered the other day, 
a brave word, destined to become historic. 
It might very well be incorporated in your 
book, Diana. It's a woman's word, fear- 
less, formidable; though spoken by a man. 

[163] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

I should like to be associated with it now 
— in the days of its contempt and obloquy. 

Too proud to fight. 

David. And he's a soldier, mind you! 

Basil. Oh, there are many of us beginning to feel 
that way. There'll be more, by and bye. 
I'm telling you now, before it's popular. 

Rosie. I must say, your argument doesn't appeal 
to me! It wouldn't to any real woman! 
I like a man to be brave! 

Basil. Very well, we'll begin at home; and over- 
turn those money-changers' tables! 

Rosie. I don't understand. 

Basil. They will!. . . 

Well, Diana, have you any taunt to 
fling at my cowardly head? 

Diana. It is all so new, so strange, like a dream! 
You are not the Basil of those long ages 
ago, before the war. How did it happen? 
[164] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Basil. It was Something that came to me one 
day above the battlefield. Among the 
clouds. Something I saw. 

Diana. What? 

Basil. God. 

They all stand perfectly still, staring 
at him. 

I'll tell you about it, if you'd like to hear. 
Won't you all sit down? 

They do so: Basil at the base of the 
altar: David and Rosie on the 
bench, left. Diana remains where 
she is. 

It is near sundown. The sky is now 
a deep burning purple, shot with 
gold. 

Basil tells his story very quietly, in 
an almost commonplace tone of 
voice; 

[165] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Basil. It was in the early morning. I was told 
off to reconnoitre. We had suffered heavily 
during the night; but with the dawn, the 
cause of Heaven was vindicated once more. 
We cut them into mince-meat. 

I wasn't feeling very fit that morning. 
Insomnia, fever, all that kind of thing. 
As I buckled myself in, a big black cloud 
came sweeping overhead. Bit of wind on, 
I thought. Perhaps blow some of these 
cobwebs away. And I nodded good-bye to 
the boys. So long, old hawk! said one of 
them: Mind you dont hit Christ up there ! 
Somehow, the word stuck in my head. As 
I left earth, the birds were singing. 

The first few thousand feet were fairly 
easy. A stray shot grazed me; but I 
didn't consider it serious, and I pressed on. 
Then suddenly — I struck that cyclone! 
The song of it through my rigging was like 
jangling harps. 

A look of scared remembrance comes 
into his eyes, 
[166] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

It was alive. I felt the heave and 
bulging of its terrible body, I drank its 
breath, heard the roaring of its voices. 
I found myself imagining — eyes! . . . 

Then I got mad. I set myself to wrestle 
with that grim unseen antagonist, as though 
it were indeed some conscious soul. I sup- 
pose I grew light-headed. I began talking 
to him, challenging, deriding! Come on, 
you devil! Come on, you Son of Thunder, 
and be -pulverized! Then, with a shift of 
fancy, came to me that scriptural name 
for God: to Pneuma Hagion — the Holy 
Wind! It tickled me immensely. The 
quip, the irony of it! And the cloud 
swooped down upon me. 

You people don't know what it is to be 
lost in a cloud. The dark, the desolation! 
It's like disembodiment — in purgatory. 
You lose all bearings. Above, below, the 
usual distinctions don't mean anything. 
It's only when the things begin to fly up 
out of your pockets. . . . And not always 
then. There's that rush of blood to your 
[167] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

head! There's madness, delirium! ... It 
seemed ages. Presently, a miracle hap- 
pened, a flood of light! It was the cloud 
whisking away. And I saw the world 
upside down! 

That's funny, I said: / always thought the 
sky went that way! Suppose it's all right! 
That's how it must look to God! — Everything 
turned about! The paradoxes, the time- 
worn antinomies floated dimly through me. 
Damned idiotic arrangement! I muttered, 
and grew hideously calm. 

He continues as in a dream. He 
seems almost to have forgotten their 
presence. 

Then bit by bit, slowly, I became aware 
that I was not alone. He had circled 
around me several times, before I realized. 
I saw his flag first. It was the enemy's! 
... I gazed at it stupidly, trying to col- 
lect myself. At last, I said: Why, that's 
my enemy! There's the gutless dog that is 
destroying civilization! And I emptied both 
[168] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

my barrels into him. Then I grinned 
inanely, and looked into his face. It was 
the face of Christ! . . . 

When I woke, I was in the hospital. It 
was Maytime. Through the open window 
came a puff of wind, bearing a scent of 
blossoms. And the birds were still sing- 
ing. 

After a few moments, he rises and says 
quietly; 

Now, do you understand? 

The others rise also. 

David. Only too well. If I divine you rightly, 
you forsake your vows as a soldier, your 
honour as a gentleman, your king, your 
flag, your country. 

Basil. You divine me perfectly. I spit out of my 
mouth, the service of Caiaphas and Pilate 
forever! I am the man without a country! 
I have " accepted " Jesus. 
[169] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He emphasises the cant word, bringing 
out both ironies. 

David. Do you believe in peace at any price? 

Basil. Well, at the price of everything that you 
call honour. 

Rosie. I'm with David, absolutely! I despise 
disloyalty! Oh, how I despise it! 

Basil. And you, Diana? 

Diana. I'm with you, Basil. I despise it, also. 

Basil. Then, out of the way, you mountebanks 
and puppets of a dead and dying order! 
Clear the stage, for the biggest love-scene 
that was ever played on earth! 

Diana. Love-scene! What do you mean? 

Basil. Between the New Woman, already in the 
world; and the New Warrior coming to 
her, as quickly as the devil and the Euro- 
pean War will let him! I'll tell you all 

[170] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



about it, Diana, as soon as we get these 
married people bundled out. 

Diana. No! No! I am unworthy! I am un- 
worthy! 

And she darts wildly into the garden, 
like a stricken deer. 

Basil. That's the second time she's dodged me 
today. If I had my plane, I'd fly to her! 
If I were Legge, I'd do it in a waltz ! But — 
lame! . . . There's a symbol in that, too! 

Well, Mrs. Fleming, Rosie — Let me call 
you Rosie!— Anything to say? 

Rosie. Nothing! Ever! 

She minces disdainfully up the stair- 
way. At the top, she turns; 

I only hope you may get her! 

And that is the end of Rosie. 

Basil. You anything, David? 

[171] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
David {gruffly). No! 

He turns on his heel. Basil recalls 
him; 

Basil. Oh, David! . . . 

Just to satisfy one last flickering nation- 
alistic interest. What was your mother? 

David. American. Came from Milwaukee. 

And he follows Rosie proudly. It is 
like the passing of an emperor. 

It is sundown. The night is falling 
fast. Ion enters with a lighted 
lantern^ which he places on the 
altar. 

Basil. Ion! Where is she? 

Ion. Under the fig-tree. Weeping. 

And without another wordy Basil 
limps off. 
[172] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Ion looks around, to make sure the 
coast is clear. Then he whistles 
softly towards the cellar. Prout 
emerges with his paraphernalia. 

Ion. Did you find your worm? 

Prout. I have been strangely misled. This is no 
problem in polyandry at all. I find noth- 
ing more unusual in this menage than 
paranoia, polymorphous perverse, intro- 
version and dementia praecox. With two 
exceptions. The young man, Legge, I re- 
gard as a healthy, wholesome specimen of 
everything modern eugenical science might 
desire; and the suffrage woman is a fine 
example of an (Edipus Complex, stimulated 
by the demise of her late lamented archae- 
ological Papa! 

I won't stay dinner. I will go and com- 
municate my discoveries to my friends in 
Zurich and Vienna. 

He moves towards the villa, and stops. 

No! Matrimony! Ugh! . . . 
[173] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

He moves towards the garden, and 
stops. 

Love! Ugh! ... Ah! 

And he chooses Legge's way oj the 
wall. He is already half-way over. 

Ion. Take care! 

Prout. Why? 

Ion. It is a steep place, running down into the 

sea. 

Prout. Too late: I'm over! 

And he is. A moment later, Diana 
and Basil come panting in from 
the garden. Diana takes the left 
of the altar, and faces Basil, who 
is on the right. The lantern il- 
lumines them. 

Basil. Diana! Diana! 

Diana. No! No! 

[i74l 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



A gun is heard from below. 
What's that? . . . 

Ion. Only the Harbour-Master, telling: All is 

well! 

He leaves them. 

If required, the Curtain may de- 
scend at this point. 

END OF THE FOURTH ACT 



12 



THE FIFTH ACT 

The Way of the Tree of Life 



THE FIFTH ACT 

The Scene and the Situation remain unchanged: 
Diana and Basil stand, one on each side of the Altar 
of the Mother of the Gods: Diana, left; Basil, right. 
The night has fallen; but Ion's lantern is there. And 
the moon is rising. 

Basil. Diana, listen to me! 

Diana. I daren't! I daren't! 

Basil. Oh, Diana, you are wrecking me at the 
very moment of my freedom! Don't be 
selfish! Think of me! Remember that 
glorious outburst of passionate eloquence 
I poured into your ears down yonder! 
Speeches, a playwright might have envied! 
And none but nightingales to hear me! Oh, 
these love-scenes that nobody ever wit- 
nessed! Think of the greatness of the thing 
I offer you, Diana! I'm not offering mat- 

[179] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

rimony. I'm not insulting you! This is 
love! I'm simply asking you to live with 
me! 



Diana. Yes, I think I understand! Live with 
you! 

Basil. With you, near you, by you — anything: 
so long as I am within sight of your beau- 
tiful face, the sound of your adorable 
voice! — Oh, your voice! It isn't like 
a voice at all! It is like the memory of 
all the dreams and immortal longings of the 
ages! I want you for my friend, my com- 
rade! As for matrimony, that evil prot- 
estant stew of smugness and bestiality, 
I abjure it! The Blessed Sacrament of 
Marriage, if you will! Some day! When 
I am worthy! When I have cleansed my- 
self of — sex! When I am above it, be- 
yond it, like the holy angels of God! But 
meanwhile, friend, comrade, fellow-worker 
in the fashioning of a new world! Diana, 
don't you know, that it is what the age is 
waking tor Can't you feel that all the 
winds of Heaven are driving us to this? 
[180] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Diana. Yes, yes, I feel that too! I know we are 
on the threshold of the Great Miracle! A 
New World, so far as the relation between 
man and woman is concerned. A world 
of less sex and more love. There shall be 
real children in that world! Children with 
wings maybe: children of the open sky: 
maybe at last some Golden Child, quick- 
ened of the Wind Himself! Yes, yes, I see 
the beauty of it; and yet . . . 

Basil. You mean, perhaps, the blind sniggering 
multitude. . . . People like Rosie, like 
Legge . . . 

Diana. No, I'm not thinking of what people might 
say! It's myself! 

Basil. Yourself? . . . 

Diana. Oh, how I have dreamed of this day! I 
have waited for it, all women have waited 
for it, down the centuries! I too, have 
heard the voices, seen the sign in the skies, 
have known the rushing of that Mighty 
Wind. . . . And yet, now that the Day is 
here, I am afraid! 
[181] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 



Basil. Afraid! Of what? 

Diana. The Thing before us! The Thing already 
standing at the door. 

Basil. If you fear that perhaps again, after this 
war. . . . But no! This is the war that ends 
war. 

Diana. War end war! If we depend upon war to 
end war, we are lost indeed! Already, the 
nations that began with that doctrine are 
singing their hymns of hate, planning trade 
reprisals, further armaments in the future. 
No! War, under all circumstances is abom- 
inable, blasphemous and obscene! It drags 
everything, everybody, into its pestilential 
vortex! It never breeds anything but 
war! It is the destroyer of everything 
decent and human! 

Basil. That is true. And yet, in war, I have seen 
heroisms, that . . . 



Diana. Oh, don't mistake me! God knows, I do 
not wish to pluck one laurel from the sacred 
f 182 1 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

brows of those poor mangled victims yon- 
der! Rather, I will add one. They were 
heroes before the war — most of them. 
Heroes in mine, in factory, in fetid slum! 
The same dastardly hand tortured them in 
both cases. Only without publicity, the 
first time. Those heroisms were un- 
gazetted! No! War will end by the ad- 
vent of Something mightier than itself! 
It is here, now! At the door! 

Basil. What? 

Diana. The Day! The coming of the Lord in 
clouds of glory! The millennium! 

Basil {under his breath). Diana! . . . 



Diana. It may be already, the trumpets have 
sounded, for those that can hear: for those 
that can see, already the graves opened 
and given up their dead! One watches 
people's faces. . . . There is a strange light! 
One listens to the unsaid whisperings of 
their spirits. ... It is a kind of Wind! 
And everywhere! Like a rustling among 
[183] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

the leaves! A breathing out of the heart 
of the forest! . . . 

That is why I am afraid! I ask myself, 
am I ready? 

Basil. That is a terrible thought, Diana. 

Diana. It is a terrible moment in the history of 
the world. 

Basil. Am I ready? I ask myself that question, 
too. 

Diana. That preparedness is worth considering, 
isn't it, Basil? It goes deeper than their 
hell-fire, too! It's a little more important 
than saving your own soul! 

Basil. Yes, but you'd never get religious people 
to see that! 

Diana. Nevertheless, despite their infidelity, when 
He comes, He must find faith on the earth. 

Basil. It calls for a New Man! 

[184] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Diana. It calls for a New Woman! 

Basil. Not Superman! It must be Man of God's 
own making! Not man whose line goes 
back through ancient lusts and tyrannies 
to the ravening beast! 

Diana. Not Superwoman! But Woman, God's 
Helpmeet, whose line goes back through 
pangs and crucifixions, bearing the life and 
rapture of the coming day! 

Basil. Where shall we look for them? 

Diana. Perhaps we shall find them here. Among 
the Common People. Once they are set 
free. 

Basil. They must free themselves. 

Diana. Yes, we must free ourselves! And each 
other! We must free ourselves of all lies! 
Of the beast within, and of the beast with- 
out! We must free ourselves of the des- 
potisms, the nationalities, even the flags! 
We must free ourselves of everything, how- 
ever reverend, that makes a lie! 
[185] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 
Basil. And then? In this broken world? . . 



Diana. Forgive one another! And bring forth 

anew! 



Basil. Have you any definite plans, Diana? 

Diana. No! They are in the hands of God. He 
will reveal them. We must follow the 
light. 
Are you ready, Basil? 

Basil. I am ready. 

Diana. Then — friend, comrade, beloved! 

They join hands above the altar. 
Basil. Diana! 

Diana mounts to the altar, and stands 
there like a priestess at the moment 
of some high sacrament, Basil 
looks at her: then sinks quietly to 
the base at her feet. 
[186] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Diana. There is something more beautiful than 
passion, Basil. There is bliss. Out of 
bliss come forth the deathless children of 
the spirit. It is the only secret of crea- 
tion. The secret of Great Art, of Social 
Order, of a New World ! Out of bliss, the 
Master Craftsman of the Universe makes 
all things. He, who knows the last word, 
ere He writes the first. He sees the action 
one, complete and of a certain magnitude. 
With an inner and an outer meaning, 
symbolical, instinct with paradox and 
irony leading deeply unto truth. Inspir- 
ing! Uplifting! Illuminating! And with 



cleansing in the end 



Basil. Such bliss be ours. It is ours! 



Diana. Why then, our Golden Child is here! That 
gladness also goes to the making of this 
moment! It gives the assurance of the 
future in the present! And not only so! 
Of the past also! It makes all one! No 
longer will I mourn the dead! Those 
stricken brothers yonder! Rather will I 
sing and rejoice! Why, even now. . . . 
[187] 



THE RIB OF THE MAN 

Any moment, any moment — in the twink- 
ling of an eye. . . . Because I veritably 
believe. . . . 

Basil. Believe — what, Diana? 

She looks at him curiously; and then, 
slowly, emphasising every point, says; 

Diana. Because I believe in the Holy Ghost, the 
Lord and Giver of Life! Who spake by 
the prophets! Because I believe in the 
forgiveness of sins! The resurrection of the 
body! And the Life everlasting! Amen! 

The moonlight is upon them. There 
is heard the sound of nightingales 
in the garden; and a faint stirring 
of wind. 

The Curtain descends. 



END OF THE PLAY 



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